IN  WARTIMES 

AT  LA  ROSE    ,   BLANCHE 


M-E-M-DAVIS 


.  AT.   ; 


>• 


> 


<-< 


BY 

MEM    DAVIS 


Twelve  Illustrations  by  E   W  Kemble 


BOSTON 
D    LOTHROP    COMPANY 

FRANKLIN    AND    HAWLEY   STREETS' 


/ 


COPYRIGHT,  1888 

BV 
D.  LOTHROP  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 

i 


CHAPTER   I. 

MARCHING  ORDERS II 

CHAPTER   II. 
"THE  GUNNEL'S  VALLY  " 28 

CHAPTER  III. 
MANDY'S  DOLL-PARTY 43 

CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  DISH-RAG   BONNKT 64 

CHAPTER   V. 

A   MORNING-GLORY 85 

CHAPTER   VI. 

"  HAREGENAB  " IOJ 

CHAPTER   VII. 
A  NEW  DOG 124 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VIII 


POOR   WHITEY 


148 


CHAPTER   IX. 

A   LETTER  FROM   THE    FRONT I?  I 

CHAPTER   X. 
A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST 195 

CHAPTER   XI. 

OUR  AFRICAN   PRINCESS 2:5 

CHAPTER   XII 

"PO'-SOULS" 235 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"  Jes'  you  keep  still,  Marse  Tom  !  "  cried  Mammy  Frontis. 

"  Please,  Marse  Jim,  is  you  seen  marster?"  .  .  37 

"  Her  name  is  Lucinda-Ketura,"  said  the  Yankee  .  59 
"  Is  you  done  whipped  the  Yantees  ? "  asked  little 

Percy 71 

The  father  and  son  from  the  Warloopy  ...  95 

The  next  moment  she  was  clasped  in  father's  arms  113 
Hester  and  Mammy,  dragging  their  overturned  boat 

after  them 133 

In  the  midst  of  the  chaos,  sat  Monterey-Bull-Run  .  145 

Mammy  dances  "  Sugar-in-de-gourd,"  .  .  .  159 

In  the  midst  of  the  battle 181 

"The  White  Rose,"  and  the  old  chief  ...  201 

"  Who  hurted  you,  Aunt  Wose  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly  225 

Home  from  the  war 253 


IN    WAR-TIMES 
AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MARCHING   ORDERS. 

WELL,  Dandy  ? " 
"  Please,  Marse,  I  wants  to  go  to  de  war 
'long  o'  Marse  Tom." 

We  were  all  out  pn  the  high  veranda  at  La 
Rose  Blanche  :  my  pretty  fragile  mother  rocking 
softly  in  her  low  chair ;  and  my  father  sitting  on 
the  steps  at  her  feet.  And  great-uncle  Selden, 
who  had  come  up  from  the  city  to  say  good-by — 
for  his  battalion  had  marching  orders  from  "  the 
front,"  as  everybody  was  then  vaguely  saying; 
and  great-uncle  Selden's  black,  woolly-headed  little 
body-servant,  Frederic.  And  my  brothers,  Tom 
ii 


12  IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

and  Hartwell,  in  their  bran-new  uniforms  all  span- 
gled with  brass-buttons.  And  cousin  Nellie  Brans- 
come,  who  was  swinging  in  a  hammock  under  the 
rose-vine  and  strumming  upon  her  guitar  —  her 
brother  Wesley  was  down  in  the  summer-house  pout- 
ing because  he  wasn't  old  enough  to  have  a  uniform 
and  go  to  the  war !  And  Captain  Brion  and  Tom 
Dennison,  who  were  under  the  rose-vine  with  cousin 
Nell.  And  Mandy,  myself,  and  the  four  little 
boys. 

It  was  a  soft  warm  atternoon  in  March.  The 
orange-trees  were  in  bloom,  and  so  were  the  roses 
and  the  honeysuckles  and  the  violets,  and  a  little 
breeze  that  came  up  from  the  river  brought  in  all 
their  blended  sweets.  The  birds  were  singing  in 
the  magnolia-trees  that  shaded  the  broad  avenue 
leading  down  to  the  front  gate  ;  and  yellow  and 
gold-dusted  butterflies  were  zigzagging  about  the 
flower-dotted  lawn.  Overhead  the  sky  was  blue  — 
oh !  so  blue,  and  away  over  by  the  sugar-house, 
where  we  could  see  the  snow-white  tents  of  the 
camp,  with  the  flag  fluttering  from  the  tall  flag-staff, 
there  was  a  delicious  purple  haze  that  seemed  to 


MARCHING   ORDERS.  13 

melt  into  a  low-lying  mass  of  white  cloud  hovering 
about  the  edge  of  the  swamp. 

The  carriage  was  drawn  up  at  the  foot  of  the 
long  sweep  of  steps,  with  Uncle  Joshua  on  the 
driver's  seat;  and  two  or  three  horses,  saddled 
and  bridled,  were  also  waiting ;  for  everybody,  ex- 
cept "  we  chillun,"  was  going  over  to  the  camp 
to  visit  the  Selden  Rifles. 

Dandy  had  led  around  one  of  the  horses  and 
after  standing  a  moment  at  its  head,  he  had 
dropped  the  bridle  and  walked  boldly  up  the  steps 
and  stood  with  his  brimless  hat  in  his  hand  before 
my  father. 

Then  it  was  that  my  father  said  "Well,  Dandy?" 
and  Dandy  said  "  Please,  Marse,  I  wants  to  go  to 
de  war  'long  o'  Marse  Tom." 

My  father  shook  his  head.  Dandy  was  only 
thirteen  years  old.  It  is  true  that  my  brother  Hart 
was  but  two  years  older,  and  even  my  big  brother 
Tom  was  little  more  than  sixteen.  But  they  had 
stormed  so,  and  so  entreated  and  threatened  in 
their  defiant  boyish  way  to  run  away  and  enlist 
"  anyhow,  first  thing  anybody  knew,"  that  they  had 


14  IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

finally  wrung  a  reluctant  consent  from  father  to 
enroll  themselves  in  the  Selden  Rifles,  Captain 
Brion's  company,  now  in  camp  over  by  the  sugar- 
house  and  upon  the  eve  of  starting  to  the  front. 
And  oh !  how  proud  they  were  when  they  came 
home  one  day  and  told  us  they  had  been  mustered 
in  (Mandy  and  I  both  thought  it  had  something  to 
do  with  plasters),  and  how  they  strutted  around 
the  house  the  day  their  new  uniforms  came  home 
and  they  had  them  on  for  the  first  time ! 

Father  shook  his  head.  "  No,  Dandy,"  he  said. 
"  You  are  much  too  young  to  go.  Besides  Virgil — " 

"  But,  Marse,"  abruptly  broke  in  Dandy  who  had 
never  been  separated  from  brother  Tom  a  day  since 
he  was  four  years  old,  "  who  gwine  to  take  keer  o' 
Marse  Tom  ?  Dars  Virg  fer  ter  bresh  Marse  Hart's 
close  an'  fetch  he  boots  and  load  he  gun,  but  who 
gwine  —  "  Here  Dandy  choked  and  great  tears 
rolled  down  his  dusky  cheeks. 

Mandy  giggled  audibly  when  father  again  shook 
his  head  and  Dandy  went  slowly  down  the  steps. 
Mandy  professed  the  greatest  contempt  for  Dandy, 
who  was  her  twin-brother. 


MARCHING   ORDERS.  15 

At  this  moment  Mammy,  high-turbaned  and 
smiling,  came  out  carrying  a  big  basket  covered 
with  a  white  cloth.  The  boys  smacked  their  lips 
over  the  spicy  and  suggestive  odors  which  floated 
from  it.  Then  my  mother  and  cousin  Nell  and 
great-uncle  Selden  and  my  father  got  into  the  car- 
riage ;  the  basket  was  handed  up  to  uncle  Joshua 
and  they  rolled  away  down  the  shelled  drive,  fol- 
lowed by  Captain  Brion  and  Tom  Dennison  on 
horseback ;  and  by  my  brother  Hart  and  Wesley 
Branscome,  who  emerged  from  the  summer-house 
still  pouting  but  eager,  on  foot.  As  the  cavalcade 
started  brother  Tom  waved  his  hand  and  called 
after  his  Captain  with  the  easy  familiarity  of  those 
first  days  of  the  war :  "  Say,  Cap,  I'm  goin'  to  stay 
awhile.  I'll  be  'long  about  sundown."  The  Cap- 
tain nodded  and  in  a  few  moments  they  were  all 
out  in  the  wide  lane  between  the  Cherokee-rose 
hedges,  moving  briskly  toward  Camp  Nellie. 

"  I  think  it's  a  shame  that  father  won't  let  you 
go,  Dandy,"  exclaimed  brother  Tom  coming  down 
the  steps  three  at  a  time.  We  swarmed  after  him, 
Mandy  and  I,  and  Sam  and  Charley  and  Will,  and 


1 6  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE   BLANCHE. 

even  little  toddling  Percy;  and  great-uncle  Selden's 
Frederic.  How  fine  and  grand  we  thought  him  as 
we  clustered  about  his  knees ;  and  yet  how  familiar 
with  his  bonny  smile  and  quizzical  eyes.  The  same 
idea  seized  us  all  as  he  swung  us  playfully  around 
in  the  old  way.  '*  Play  with  us !  O  please  play 
with  us,"  cried  Sam  and  Charley  and  I  in  a  breath. 

"  Play  with  us,"  echoed  Will. 

"  P'ay,"  cooed  little  Percy. 

For  brother  Tom  had  always  led  all  our  sports 
and  we  missed  him  sadly  since  he  had  got  himself 
mustered  in.  My  dolls  had  never  presented  so 
respectable  an  appearance  as  since  brother  Tom 
had  gone  to  live  in  camp,  but  somehow  their  re- 
spectability was  not  as  satisfying  as  I  had  once 
imagined  it  might  be. 

The  embryo  soldier  shook  back  his  brown  curls 
and  laughed.  "All  right,"  he  assented,  tossing  his 
cap  on  the  steps  and  stripping  off  his  many-but- 
toned jacket.  "  What'll  we  play  ?  " 

"  Deer  and  dogs !  Deer  and  dogs !  "  we  shouted 
with  one  voice,  eager  for  our  favorite  game. 

"  All  right,"  he  said  again.     "  You  an'  Dandy'll 


MARCHING  ORDERS.  17 

be  the  hunters,  little  Sis  an'  Mandy  an'  the  little 
boys'll  be  the  dogs.  Mind  out,  now,  I'm  goin' 
to  run  mighty  fast,  an'  I'm  not  goin'  to  fall  until 
I'm  shot  'tween  the  eyes.  Ready !  One  !  Two  ! 
Three  !  Go !  "  And  he  set  off  trotting  leisurely 
through  the  winding  walks  toward  the  rose-garden 
in  the  corner  of  the  grounds,  making  believe  to  run, 
with  the  little  boys  screaming  at  his  heels.  This 
was  our  old  game.  Mandy  and  Dandy  and  I  held 
back  so  as  to  give  the  little  ones  a  chance,  until 
we  neared  the  yupon-hedge  surrounding  the  rose- 
garden.  Then  Dandy  quickened  his  pace  at  which 
the  laughing  gray-clad  "deer"  leaped  lightly  over 
the  hedge  and  began  to  speed  around  the  mazy 
walks,  Dandy  in  hot  pursuit  and  nimble-footed 
Mandy  not  far  behind.  I  —  a  fat,  rather  clumsy 
little  lass  of  eight  years  toiled  breathlessly  along 
in  the  rear,  lifting  my  stick  gun  and  shouting 
"bang"  at  every  step. 

The  tall,  slim  figure  bounded  here  and  there,  flew 
across  rose-beds  ablaze  with  bloom,  darted  down 
unexpected  aisles,  doubled  upon  his  steps,  eluding 
Dandy  who  was  only  less  quick  than  himself ;  and 


1 8  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

finally  breaking  through  the  midst  of  the  little  boys 
who  were  scampering  gleefully  and  wildly  about 
the  grass-plot  in  the  corner,  he  sprang  again  over 
the  hedge  and  dashed  up  the  alley  between  the 
double  rows  of  china-trees  alongside  the  banana- 
plantation. 

All  at  once,  as  I  crept  through  a  hole  in  the 
hedge  to  follow,  I  saw  him  drop  to  the  ground. 
This  was  the  proper  climax  to  our  little  drama 
always.  The  hunter,  then  supposed  to  have 
wounded  his  prey,  came  up  with  an  imaginary 
knife  to  despatch  him,  while  the  pack  of  hounds 
yelped  and  barked  vigorously  around.  But  this 
time,  as  we  approached,  the  stag  varied  the  usual 
programme.  He  rose  and  ran  forward  a  few  steps 
and  dropped  again  ;  and  Dandy,  who  had  reached 
the  spot  where  he  first  fell,  stopped  suddenly  with 
a  cry.  We  saw  him  whirling  around  and  beating 
the  ground  with  his  stick-gun.  Something  long 
and  lithe  and  gleaming  seemed  to  whirl  with  him 
in  the  cloud  of  dust  that  surrounded  him.  Pres- 
ently the  shining  ceased;  he  dropped  his  stick  and 
ran  to  my  brother  Tom,  stooped  over  him  where 


MARCHING   ORDERS.  19 

he  lay  and  stood  up  again  with  another  sharp  cry. 
We  had  all  stopped  and  we  now  huddled  together 
in  vague  alarm. 

"  Mandy,"  he  shouted  hoarsely,  "  run !  run  !  blow 
de  haron  fur  Marse.  Run!"  and  down  he  dropped 
again  on  his  knees. 

It  seemed  but  a  second  later  —  we  had  not  stirred, 
the  little  boys  and  I  —  when  I  saw  Mandy  standing 
on  the  horse-block  by  the  gate,  blowing  with  all  her 
might  upon  the  big  conch  —  the  signal  of  danger 
at  La  Rose  Blanche. 

(Nobody  could  blow  the  conch  like  Mandy,  not 
even  Uncle  Silas,  who  was  an  African  Prince,  and 
who  had  taught  the  art  to  all  the  younger  negroes.) 

But,  even  before  the  first  blast,  Mammy  came 
flying  out,  with  all  the  house-servants  in  her  wake. 
She  threw  up  her  hands  as  she  knelt  for  a  moment 
by  the  boys,  but  said  cheerfully  as  she  rose  to  her 
feet :  "  Jes'  you  keep  still,  Marse  Tom,  honey,  an', 
Dandy,  don't  you  stop  er  minnit.  I'se  comin'  back 
turreckly  wid  er  split  chicken.  You  Lizybun,  Me- 
lindy,  Sofy,  you  lazy  niggers,  hump  yerselfs,  an'  kill 
dem  pullits  in  de  hen-house  hine  de  kitchen.  Does 


20  IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

yer  want  ter  see  Marse  Tom  die  er  dat  snake- 
pizen  ? " 

Long  before  her  speech  was  ended  she  had  scut- 
tled away  and  the  last  words  were  flung  over  her 
shoulder  as  she  ran.  They  seemed  to  put  life  into 
my  benumbed  feet  and  I  started  forward.  But 
stopped  shrieking  with  horror.  For  there,  writhing 
and  twisting  in  the  dust  was  an  enormous  snake, 
whose  head  was  bruised,  but  whose  slender  and 
forked  tongue  was  darting  angrily  from  wide-open 
jaws. 

"  Lawd !  Miss  M'ay !  min'  out !  min'  out !  " 
screamed  Dandy,  spitting  out  a  great  mouthful  of 
green  stuff,  "  mayby  hit  ain't  dead  yit ! "  He  had 
my  brother's  head  on  his  knee  and  as  he  spoke 
he  bent  down  again  and  pressed  his  lips  to  his 
forehead  which  was  pale  and  dripping  with 
blood. 

I  sprang  aside  and  then  stumbled  blindly  on. 
"What's  the  matter  with  my  brother  Tom?"  I 
demanded,  trembling  in  every  limb.  Dandy  lifted 
his  head  only  to  spit  out  another  mouthful  of  green- 
ish foam.  "  What's  the  matter  with  my  brother 


MARCHING   ORDERS.  21 

Tom?"  I  repeated  imperiously,  but  beginning  to 
cry. 

"  Rattlesnake  done  bit  him.  Spec  he  gwine  ter 
die,"  mumbled  Dandy  with  his  mouth  on  the  wound. 
At  this,  my  brother  Tom  moved  and  groaned,  and 
I  howled  outright.  And  the  little  boys  howled 
louder  even  than  they  had  been  howling  before. 

I  seem  to  remember  nothing  more  until  a  horse 
came  galloping  up  to  the  front  gate  ;  and  my  father 
was  kneeling  by  my  brother  whose  head  was  still 
on  Dandy's  knee,  and  was  pouring  something  down 
his  throat  from  a  flask  —  and  making  Dandy  swal- 
low some  too  —  and  Mammy  was  binding  a  warm, 
bleeding,  still-palpitating  chicken  upon  his  fore- 
head ;  and  the  carriage  was  lumbering  up  the  drive, 
with  mother's  pale  face  at  the  window,  and  a  pro- 
cession was  going  across  the  lawn  with  father  look- 
ing very  anxious  and  serious  in  front,  carrying 
brother  Tom,  whose  head  hung  lifelessly  over  his 
shoulder ;  and  Mammy  bringing  up  the  rear  with 
me  in  her  arms,  big  girl  as  I  was,  and  sobbing  with 
all  her  might. 

The  next  afternoon  we  were  all  out  on  the  ve. 


22  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

randa  again,  brother  Tom  lying  on  a  lounge  with 
his  head  bandaged  and  his  ruddy  face  very  pale, 
but  almost  as  jolly  and  noisy  as  ever.  Mother  was 
hanging  over  him,  hardly  sure  yet  that  he  had  been 
spared  to  her.  Father  stepped  out  of  the  wide  hall 
as  Dandy  came  around  the  corner  of  the  house 
leading  Captain  Brion's  horse.  "  Dandy,"  he  called, 
"  come  up  here." 

Dandy  dropped  the  bridle  and  came  running  up 
with  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  his  face  agrin.  Father 
did  not  speak  to  him  at  once,  which  I  thought 
strange.  He  coughed  once  or  twice,  looking  first 
at  Dandy  and  then  at  brother  Tom.  Suddenly  he 
reached  out  his  big  white  hand  and  took  Dandy's 
little  black  paw  and  gave  it  a  hearty  shake. 

"Well,  Dandy,"  he  said  as  he  dropped  k,  "what 
do  you  want  most  of  everything  in  the  world  ? " 

And  Dandy  replied  :  "  Please,  Marse,  I  wants  to 
go  to  de  war  'long  o'  Marse  Tom." 

Father  broke  into  a  queer  little  laugh.  "All 
right,  Dandy,  you  can  go,"  he  said. 

Brother  Tom  gave  a  wild  whoop.  Dandy  made 
a  respectful  "  curchy  "  and  backed  down  the  steps, 


MARCHING   ORDERS.  23 

his  dark  eyes  shining.  He  darted  around  the  end 
of  the  gallery  where  Mandy  and  I  looking  over  the 
railing  saw  him  throw  himself  on  his  hands  and  lift 
his  heels  in  the  air  cracking  them  jubilantly  to- 
gether. 

"  Look  at  dat  fool  nigger !  "  said  Mandy  scorn- 
fully. "  Law,  I  is  sorry  for  Marse  Tom ! " 

A  week  later  they  went.  We  all  drove  over  to 
the  camp  to  say  good-by,  for  there  was  to  be  no 
halt  in  the  march  down  to  the  boat  at  the  landing, 
waiting  to  take  them  away.  Half  the  Parish  was 
there  with  hampers  of  provisions  and  bottles  of 
rare  old  wine  and  packages  of  books  and  bunches 
of  flowers  and  such  like  for  "  the  boys." 

Cousin  Nelly  presented  a  flag  which  Tom  Den- 
nison  received  on  the  part  of  the  Selden  Rifles. 
He  turned  red  in  the  face  and  stammered  and  broke 
down  in  his  speech ;  but  everybody  applauded  all 
the  same ;  and  I  saw  cousin  Nellie  give  him  her 
glove. 

I  gave  to  each  of  my  brothers  a  clumsy  huswife, 
which  with  Mandy's  help  I  had  secretly  constructed. 
(I  saw  one  of  them  only  the  other  day.  It  was 


24  IN    WAR-TIMES    AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

crumpled  and  stained  and  soiled,  with  the  same 
needles  —  they  were  very  big  ones  —  that  we  stuck 
in  it,  sticking  in  it  still !) 

Mother  packed  the  boys'  trunks  a  last  time  her- 
self putting  in  a  great  many  fine  white  shirts  and 
handkerchiefs  and  other  linen,  and  showed  Virgil 
and  Dandy  how  to  fold  the  things ;  and  told  them 
over  and  over  to  be  careful  of  their  young  Masters. 

And  then     .     .     .     the  good-byes  were  said     . 

.     .     and  we  came  away. 

It  was  almost  sunset  when  they  came  by.  We 
were  waiting  at  the  front  gate  to  see  them  pass. 
Mother  and  cousin  Nellie  were  in  the  gateway 
with  Mammy  and  the  other  house-servants  around 
them.  Mandy  and  I  and  the  four  little  boys  were 
perched  on  the  fence  with  Wesley  Branscome,  who 
kept  digging  his  fists  in  his  eyes  to  keep  back  the 
tears,  and  whispering  to  me :  "I'm  as  old  as  Dandy 
an'  I'm  goin'  to  run  off  an'  go  —  see  'f  I  don't ! " 

There  they  came  at  last !  along  the  rose-bordered 
lane.  Uncle  Silas  marched  in  front  beating  a  drum, 
and  great-uncle  Selden's  old  body-servant,  who  had 
been  with  him  through  the  Mexican  War,  marched 


MARCHING   ORDERS.  25 

by  him,  playing  "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me,"  on 
the  fife.  Then  came  Captain  Brion  with  father 
and  great-uncle  Selden  who  were  going  with  them 
as  far  as  the  city.  Little  seven-year-old  Frederic 
trotted  as  usual  at  uncle  Selden's  knee.  Tom 
Dennison  carried  the  flag  and  very  proud  he  looked 
as  his  eyes  fell  upon  cousin  Nell,  whose  glove  was 
fastened  in  his  cap.  They  all  lifted  their  caps  and 
cheered  as  they  went  by ;  I  fairly  danced  on  the 
fence  and  the  four  little  boys  screamed  themselves 
hoarse. 

Our  boys  came  almost  the  last,  behind  Domi- 
nique Brion  and  Louis  Walker.  Brother  Tom 
lifted  his  cap  and  smiled  at  my  mother,  throwing 
up  his  head  proudly,  and  looking  very  tall  and 
handsome.  But  brother  Hart  looked  straight  be- 
fore him,  stumbling  a  little  as  if  he  did  not  see  his 
way  plainly.  His  cap  was  pulled  down  upon  his 
yellow  curls  and  his  eyes  were  red  and  swollen.  I 
know  now  that  he  had  been  crying;  then  I  thought 
it  a  shame  that  he  did  not  take  off  his  cap  and 
hurrah  like  the  others. 

Close   behind    the    boys    marched  Virgil    and 


26  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE   BLANCHE. 

Dandy.  Virgil  was  a  sober  staid  fellow,  very  big 
and  very  black,  and  he  strode  along  as  if  it  were 
quite  an  everyday  affair  to  go  to  war.  But  Dandy ! 
Dandy  was  grinning  from  ear  to  ear.  He  danced 
along  rather  than  walked!  In  front  of  the  gate 
he  threw  himself  on  his  hands  and  waved  his  feet 
exultantly  about  for  a  second,  and  then  darted  for- 
ward with  a  yell  to  regain  his  place. 

"  Look  at  dat  fool  nigger !  "  exclaimed  Mandy 
from  the  fence.  "  My  land !  how  sorry  I  is  for 
Marse  Tom ! " 

The  music  got  fainter  and  fainter ;  the  cloud  of 
dust  moved  further  down  the  lane,  the  flag  floating 
in  the  midst  of  it.  A  turn  in  the  road  presently 
swallowed  it  up,  and  five  minutes  later  the  boat, 
whose  smoking  chimneys  we  could  see  above  the 
trees  at  the  landing,  gave  a  shrill  whistle  and  swung 
off  down  the  river. 

As  I  climbed  down  from  the  fence  I  saw  Mam- 
my with  her  arms  around  my  mother,  half-leading, 
half-carrying  her  to  the  house.  "  Don't  you  cry, 
honey ! "  she  implored,  with  the  tears  streaming 
down  her  own  fat  cheeks.  "  Dem  chillun  ain't  gwine 


MARCHING   ORDERS.  27 

ter  git  killed !  Ain't  I  hear  you  pray  ter  de  Lawd, 
an'  ain't  de  Lawd  done  say  he  gwine  ans'er  de 
prar  o'  de  good  'ooman  ?  An'  ain't  I  done  tu'n  de 
grounds  in  de  coffee  cup  dis  very  mawnin'  an'  see 
as  how  dey  bofe  gwine  ter  come  home  'long  o' 
Dandy  an'  Virg,  all  kivered  wid  gole  like  yer 
granpappy  in  de  pictyur?  Sho  's  yer  bawn,  honey, 
nothin'  ain't  gwine  ter  happen  ter  dem  chillun ! " 


CHAPTER    II. 

"THE  GUNNEL'S  VALLY." 

A  CORNER  of  La  Rose  Blanche,"  we  always 
called  it  —  the   queer,   roomy  old  house 
down  in  the  French  quarter  of  New  Orleans  where 
great-uncle  Selden  lived. 

On  the  outside  it  was  as  different  as  possible 
from  our  wide-galleried,  dormer-windowed  planta- 
tion-house set  in  the  midst  of  green  lawns  and 
shaded  by  embowering  trees.  For  its  odd  little 
balconies  with  their  curiously-wrought  iron  rail- 
ings, hung  directly  over  the  narrow,  noisy  street ; 
its  sloping,  tile-edged  roof  touched  shoulders  on 
either  side  with  other  peaked  roofs,  and  almost 
rubbed  noses  too  in  friendly  greeting  with  the  tall 
stuccoed  building  just  across  the  way.  Its  great 
arched  entrance-door,  whose  griffin-headed  knocker 
rilled  our  childish  hearts  at  once  with  terror  and 
28 


"THE  GUNNEL'S  VALLY."  29 

delight,  opened  into  a  long,  dim,  tunnel-like  cor- 
ridor, where  a  little  stream  of  yellow  river-water 
rippled  musically  along  by  the  wall  over  the  flags. 
The  spacious  open  court  at  the  end  of  the  corridor 
was  paved  with  cool-looking  stone.  A  fountain 
played  there,  sprinkling  the  broad-leaved  plants 
and  curling  ferns  that  grew  about  the  weather- 
stained  rim  of  the  marble  basin.  Orange-trees 
and  oleanders,  that  seemed  to  me  then  to  be  always 
in  bloom,  were  set  here  and  there  in  brightly- 
painted  tubs.  In  one  corner  stood  a  row  of 
gigantic  Eastern  water-jars  —  "  Forty-Thief  jars," 
brother  Tom  said  they  were  !  —  their  bulgy  sides 
mossy-green  and  glistening  in  the  sunlight.  A 
talkative  old  parrot  who  greeted  every  incomer 
with  a  torrent  of  shrill  gombo-French,  had  his 
perch  upon  the  outstretched  (handless)  arm  of  a 
discolored  statue  leaning  against  the  carved  balus- 
trade of  the  stairway  that  led  up  into  the  big 
square  hall.  It  was  down  that  very  stairway  that 
great-great-grand'mere,  dark-eyed,  slim  and  grace- 
ful, in  the  flowered  brocade  and  high-heeled  slip- 
pers of  her  portrait  at  Rose  Blanche  came,  leaning 


30  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

on  great-great-grandpapa's  arm ;  and  here  in  this 
very  court  waited  the  sleek,  fat  negro  torch-bearers 
that  night  to  light  them  on  their  way  to  the  In- 
auguration-Ball ot  the  first  American  Governor. 

But  different  as  its  exterior  was  from  La  Rose 
Blanche,  when  once  you  got  inside  of  its  airy 
rooms,  you  found  there  a  familiar  home-look. 
The  spice-jars  by  the  fire-place  in  the  parlor,  and 
the  Sevres  vases  and  silver  candlesticks  on  the 
high  wooden  mantel,  were  disposed  in  exactly  the 
same  fashion  as  those  at  the  plantation-house ; 
the  same  portraits  were  on  the  wall,  following  you 
about  with  soft  smiling  eyes ;  the  claw-footed  tables 
and  the  great  mahogany  beds  with  damask-hung 
baldachins  —  even  the  flowered  rugs  and  the  em- 
broidered piano-cover  (not  yet  converted  into 
blankets  for  the  soldiers)  had  a  look  of  kin  with 
like  things  at  home. 

We  were  often  at  this  pleasant  corner  of  La 
Rose  Blanche,  especially  during  the  Carnival-time 
of  the  short,  bright  winters,  when  we  crowded  the 
little  balconies  to  watch  the  processions  of  mask- 
ers in  the  street  below,  and  to  listen  to  the  holiday 


"THE  GUNNELS  VALLY.  31 

music ;  or  threaded  the  thronged  banquettes  our 
selves,  in  Mammy's  charge,  tricked  out  in  gro- 
tesque mask  and  domino,  gleefully  dusting  the 
spectators  with  flour  and  pelting  them  with  bonbons. 

But  now,  the  processions  that  we  watched  from 
the  balconies,  and  that  passed  and  repassed  all 
day  long  had  lost  their  merry  Mardi-Gras  look. 
The  masks  had  disappeared  and  in  their  place 
were  grey  uniforms  that  glittered  with  gold-lace 
and  shone  with  brass-buttons.  The  narrow  streets 
of  the  old  town  echoed  beneath  the  steady  swing- 
ing step  of  marching  troops ;  strange  flags  fluttered 
on  the  air ;  the  throb  of  drums  was  everywhere. 
The  first  gun  of  the  great  Civil  War  had  been 
fired  at  Fort  Sumter  and  our  newly-enlisted  sol- 
diers were  hurrying  off  singly,  in  squads,  in  de- 
tachments, in  companies,  eager,  anxious,  alert, 
with  beating  hearts,  and  spirits  high  with  hope. 

The  Selden  Rifles  had  already  gone  to  the 
front,  and  with  them  our  boys,  Tom  and  Hart; 
and  mother  had  come  down  from  the  Plantation 
to  say  another  and  even  a  sadder  good-by ;  for 
father  was  a  captain  in  great-uncle  Selden's  bat- 


32  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

talion  of  artillery ;  and  the  battalion  had  received 
its  marching  orders. 

I  was  down  in  the  court-yard  the  morning  they 
went  away,  with  the  four  little  boys  who  sat  quite 
still  on  a  bench  under  the  latticed  gallery,  not 
knowing  what  to  make  of  the  strange  tumult  in 
the  placid  old  house.  The  sound  of  smothered 
sobs  came  down  to  us  and  mingled  with  the  "  Com- 
ment fa  va  ?  Mo  pas  connais  /"  of  the  old  parrot. 

Frederic,  with  a  bit  of  lath  on  his  shoulder, 
stood  erect  and  motionless  by  the  fountain  where 
little  Marse  Charley  had  placed  him  half  an  hour 
before  with  solemn  orders  not  to  desert  his  post, 
"  not  even  if  they  shoots  you  down  dead !  " 

Father  came  down  first  and  went  away.  We 
ran  along  the  corridor  after  him  and  stood  in  the 
doorway  watching  him  down  the  long,  crowded 
street,  until  a  passing  group  with  a  flag  moving  in 
its  midst  seemed  to  swallow  him  up,  and  then  we 
came  dejectedly  back  to  our  bench  in  the  court. 
Frederic  was  still  standing  sentry  by  the  fountain. 

Another  step  sounded  on  the  stair  and  great- 
uncle  Selden,  tall  and  trim  and  soldierly  in  his 


"THE  GUNNELS  VALLY.  33 

grey  uniform,  with  a  sword  dangling  at  his  side 
and  a  long  black  plume  floating  from  his  slouched 
hat,  came  slowly  down. 

Frederic  dropped  his  bit  of  lath  and  ran  forward. 

"Whar  is  you  gwine,  Marster?"  he  demanded 
with  affectionate  familiarity. 

Uncle  Selden  paused  a  moment  to  lay  a  kindly 
hand  upon  the  little  woolly  head,  and  looking 
down  into  the  small  black  face  uplifted  wonder- 
ingly  to  his  own  he  replied  gravely : 

"  I  am  going  to  the  war,  Frederic." 

We  all  swarmed  around  him  for  a  good-by; 
then  his  quick  step  echoed  across  the  flags,  his 
spurs  rang  along  the  shadowy  corridor,  the  heavy 
street-door  opened  and  closed  with  a  bang  behind 
him.  Frederic  pattered  after  him  with  the  rest  of 
us,  and  when  we  came  in  we  left  him  squeezing 
his  round  face  between  the  bars  of  the  outer  grille 
and  calling  out  over  and  over  "  Whar  is  you  gwine, 
Marster  ?  Whar  is  you  gwine,  Marster? " 

He  was  only  seven  years  old,  little  Frederic; 
but  he  proudly  called  himself  and  was  known  to 
all  the  Rose  Blanche  folks  as  "  the  Gunnel's 


34  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

vally."  Ever  since  he  could  toddle  he  had  trotted 
after  uncle  Selden,  meeting  him  at  the  street  door 
when  he  came  in  and  soberly  taking  possession  of 
his  hat  and  cane ;  fetching  his  newspaper,  warm- 
ing his  slippers,  tugging  at  his  boots,  raking  out 
coals  for  his  pipe  —  while  his  own  "daddy,"  the 
Colonel's  fat,  old  body-servant  who  had  attended 
him  through  the  Mexican  war,  stood  behind  his 
master's  chair,  grinning  broadly,  or  growling  in 
an  undertone  at  the  youngster  according  to  his 
humor.  "  Whar  is  you  been,  Marster  ? "  the  little 
"vally"  would  cry  imperiously,  as  the  Colonel 
came  up  the  corridor.  "  Whar  is  you  gwine, 
Marster  ?  "  he  would  insist  whenever  the  Colonel 
took  up  his  hat  and  cane  to  go  out.  "  Dat  chile 
am  jes  de  Gunnel's  shadder,"  Uncle  Joshua  used 
to  chuckle  when  they  came  up  to  La  Rose  Blanche. 
We  went  back  to  the  Plantation  the  same  day 
that  father  and  uncle  Selden  went  away.  On  the 
fourth  morning  afterward,  Aunt  Sara,  Frederic's 
mother,  lingered  nervously  about  the  doorway  of 
her  mistress's  room  after  her  duties  there  were 
finished. 


"THE  GUNNEL'S  VALLY."  35 

"  What  is  it,  Sara  ? "  asked  aunt  Selden  at  last, 
lifting  her  pale,  tear-stained  face  from  the  prayer- 
book  on  her  knees. 

"  I  hates  to  'sturb  yer,  Mis'  Ray,  'deed  I  does, 
seein'  as  how  you  is  so  'flicted  'bout  Marster. 
But,  we  is  done  look  high  an'  low,  fur  de  Gunnel's 
vally,  ma'am,  an'  we  cyant  fin'  him.  We  ain't 
had  de  luck  ter  fin'  dat  chile  no-whurs,  Mis'  Ray!" 

"  When  did  you  miss  him  ? "  aunt  Selden  asked. 

"  Marster  he  leave  lak  in  the  mawnin'  un'  de 
Gunnel's  vally  he  'spear  in  de  evenin'  o'  de  same 
day  lak,"  and  poor  Aunt  Sara  covered  her  face 
with  her  apron  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Aunt  Selden  sprang  up  alarmed.  "  O,  Sara," 
she  cried  reproachfully,  "  why  didn't  you  come  to 
me  sooner !  " 

"I  did'n  had  de  heart  to  'sturb  yer,  Mis'  Ray," 
persisted  Sara. 

Search  was  made  at  once  and  in  every  direc- 
tion. The  police  was  notified.  Aunt  Selden  her- 
self drove  in  her  carriage  with  Sara  on  the  seat 
beside  her,  from  house  to  house  making  inquiries. 
A  description  of  the  lost  child  was  posted  about 


36  IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE   BLANCHE. 

the  city  and  a  reward  offered  for  the  recovery  of 
the  Colonel's  pet  —  the  bright  little  pickaninny 
so  dear  to  the  whole  household. 

All  this  solicitude  was  in  vain.  The  boy  could 
not  be  found.  All  sadly  agreed  at  last  that  in 
attempting  to  follow  his  Master  he  must  have 
wandered  down  to  the  levee,  where  once  or  twice 
he  had  been  permitted  to  accompany  the  Colonel, 
and  that  he  had  slipped  into  the  great  turbid  river 
whose  swift  current  had  borne  his  little  lifeless 
body  away. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  later  that  a  young  officer 
was  walking  one  morning  slowly  and  listlessly 
along  one  of  the  weed-grown  streets  of  a  strag- 
gling little  village  in  Virginia.  His  thoughts  were 
hovering  gloomily  over  the  trampled  field  some 
hundred  yards  away,  scarcely  relieved  yet  of  the 
ghastly  debris  strewn  there  by  the  battle  of  a  few 
days  before.  He  did  not  feel  the  timid  touch 
upon  his  hand,  nor  notice  the  piping  and  plaintive 
voice  which  asked. 

"Please,  Marse  Jim,  is  you  seen  Marster?" 


"THE  GUNNELS  VALLY."  39 

But  a  more  impatient  tug  at  his  sleeve  roused 
him  from  his  abstraction  and  the  reiterated  ques- 
tion brought  him  to  a  stand-still,  "  Please,  Marse 
Jim,  is  you  seen  Marster  ? " 

He  looked  down  at  the  little  bunch  of  rags 
which  stood  at  his  knee. 

"  What  do  you  want,  you  little  black  ape  ? "  he 
asked  frowning,  while  a  vague  remembrance  stirred 
at  his  heart. 

"  Don'  you  'member  me,  Marse  Jim  ?  I'se  de 
Gunnel's  vally.  Sholy  you  'members  me! — Marse 
Jim,  please,  is  you  seen  Marster  ?  " 

The  young  officer  groaned  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands.  The  "Gunnel's  vally"  stood  with 
his  head  on  one  side  regarding  him  wistfully.  It 
was  a  very  forlorn  and  wretched  little  "vally" 
indeed!  His  round  cheeks  had  fallen  in;  his 
great  eyes  were  hollow  and  sunken ;  his  pinched 
little  body  was  bruised  and  sore.  The  few  soiled 
and  tattered  rags  he  wore  hardly  covered  his  nak- 
edness ;  his  mud-encrusted  feet  were  bare  ;  the 
long  wool  on  his  head  was  unkempt  and  knotted 
with  leaves  and  bits  of  stick  and  straw. 


40  IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

The  young  officer  turned  presently,  leaving 
Frederic's  question  unanswered.  He  afterward 
remembered  that  the  child  never  asked  it  again. 
He  took  the  half-starved  waif  to  his  own  quarters 
and  fed  and  clothed  him  ;  and  soon  after,  having 
a  short  furlough,  he  hurried  home  taking  the 
"  Gunnel's  vally  "  with  him. 

We  were  all  there  when  they  came  —  and  it  was 
our  last  visit  to  that  corner  of  Rose  Blanche  for 
a  long  time,  for  hardly  a  week  later  it  was  that 
Farragut's  capturing  fleet  came  up  the  river  and 
planted  the  stars  and  stripes  once  more  upon  the 
City  Hall ! 

A  cry  of  wonder  and  rejoicing  —  with  that  un- 
dercurrent of  pain  which  all  rejoicing  had  in  those 
days  —  burst  from  us  all  when  cousin  Jim  came 
up  the  stairway  leading  little  Frederic  by  the 
hand. 

In  the  hall  where  all  the  household,  black  and 
white,  swarmed  about  him  with  greeting  and  ques- 
tioning, Frederic's  eyes  wandered  around  in  mute 
inquiry.  At  last  we  saw  them  rest  upon  uncle 
Selden's  portrait  with  the  funeral-wreath  twined 


"THE  GUNNEL'S  VALLY."  41 

about  it  and  the  torn  flag  drooping  on  the  wall 
below.  A  strange  look  crept  slowly  over  his  face ; 
his  meagre  body  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  his 
lip  quivered. 

"  Don't  tell  him !  Don't  tell  him,  Sara !  "  aunt 
Selden  moaned,  dropping  her  head  on  Sara's 
faithful  breast.  "  You  have  no  need  to  tell  him ! 
Don't  you  see  that  he  knows  /" 

"  I  knows  dat  my  Marster  is  done  shot  dead," 
said  the  "  Gunnel's  vally  "  with  a  short  dry  sob. 

No  one  ever  knew  what  the  poor  little  soul  had 
suffered,  or  what  he  had  seen  during  those  long 
months.  To  all  questions  he  replied  by  a  curious 
far-away  gaze  that  filled  the  questioner  with  a  kind 
of  terror.  Once  only,  when  he  had  been  sitting 
silent  for  hours,  as  was  his  wont,  before  the 
kitchen-fire,  with  his  head  dropped  upon  his  breast 
and  his  eyes  half-closed,  he  said  suddenly,  but  with- 
out turning  his  head,  or  lifting  his  heavy  eyelids : 

"  Mammy,  dey  uz  er  heap  er  white  gentermens 
layin'  on  de  groun'.  Dey  uz  all  kivered  wid  blood. 
One  genterman  —  whar  look  lak  Marster's  li'l 
Marse  Hart  —  he  ax  me  ter  fotch  him  er  drink  er 


42  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

water — an'  —  I  —  did'n  had  no  water  fer  ter  gi* 
him." 

He  remained  a  weakly,  broken,  and  prematurely- 
old  little  creature  always ;  but  always  tenderly 
cared  for  by  the  family  of  his  beloved  "  Marster." 

The  other  day  just  before  he  died — in  the  old 
house  down  in  the  French  quarter,  which  is  un- 
changed ;  even  the  old  parrot  is  still  there  singing 
and  scolding  in  gombo-French  just  as  he  used  to 
do  when  the  Colonel  walked  about  the  court  with 
his  little  "vally"  at  his  heels  —  the  other  day 
when  Frederic  lay  dying  beside  the  open  window, 
a  company  of  holiday  soldiers  passed  along  the 
street.  Their  feet  rang  on  the  pavement;  the 
drum-beat  throbbed  on  the  air  —  the  band  was 
playing  "  Dixie."  At  the  sound  he  opened  his 
eyes  and  gazed  anxiously  around  the  room. 
"  Marse  Jim,"  he  murmured  entreatingly,  "please, 
is  you  seen  Marster  ? " 

The  next  moment  a  joyful  smile  swept  over  his 
emaciated  face ;  a  light  flashed  into  his  sunken 
eyes ;  a  quick  cry  as  of  recognition  escaped  from 
his  lips,  and  then —  He  had  found  "  Marster  1 " 


CHAPTER  III. 
MANDY'S  DOLL-PARTY. 

MANDY  gave  herself  a  good  many  airs  over 
her  doll-party. 

"  Case  you  knows,  Miss  Ma'y,"  she  said  as  we 
swept  the  leaves  out  of  the  play-house  and  settled 
Sissy-Maria,  and  Adelmina,  and  Lodore,  and  the 
rest  of  the  company  on  the  bit  of  carpet  in  one 
corner;  "you  knows  when  you  gin  yo1  doll-party 
las'  week  Florence-Pope  did'n  had  dat  new  cape 
o'  hern  ;  an'  yo'  maw  did'n  had  no  loaf-sugar,  an* 
no  reesons,  an'  no  sho'-'nough  coffee,  like  she  got 
now,  whar  Marse  Jeems  done  saunt  her  fum  de 
cose." 

"  But  you  ain't  got  no  sho'-'nough  coffee,"  I  put 
in  'jealously. 

"  I  knows  I  ain't,"  returned  Mandy  with  a  toss 
of  the  head.  "  But  Mis'  Lucy  done  gin  me  er 
43 


44  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

cup  er  loaf-sugar,  an'  de  reasons,  an'  I  gwine  back 
ter  de  house  terreckly  ter  git  er  hunk  er  poun'- 
cake  she  done  promis'  me,  whar  Mammy  bakin' 
now.  Dat  cake  o'  yo'ne  want  no  mo'n  'lasses-cake 
an'  po1  at  dat !  " 

My  heart  was  beginning  to  swell  under  these 
taunts.  But  just  here  Lorena  who  was  holding 
the  twins  (pinned  to  her  dress-sleeves)  toppled 
over  on  her  face  dragging  Sissy-Maria  and  Flor- 
ence-Pope down  in  her  fall. 

"  O  dear ! "  I  groaned,  as  I  picked  them  up 
and  brushed  the  dust  from  their  clothes,  "  'f  I 
only  had  a  nuss  what  could  bend  her  arms  and 
her  legs  and  could  sit  down  —  like  the  Mullenses," 
I  added  with  a  sigh. 

"  Dem  jinted  Mullenses  wuz  nice,"  assented 
Mandy  in  a  sympathetic  tone.  This  restored  good 
feeling  between  us  and  we  proceeded  harmoni- 
ously with  our  arrangements. 

We  were  down  in  a  far  corner  of  the  grounds, 
in  the  shadows  of  the  rose-hedge  —  white  with 
bloom — which  bordered  the  lane.  Between  us 
and  the  house  stretched  the  long  avenues  of  the 


MANDY'S  DOLL-PARTY. 


45 


orange-plantation  where  the  sunlight  hardly  sifted 
through  the  thickly-woven  leaves,  but  the  winds 
went  softly,  stirring  the  flowering  grasses  under- 
neath the  trees.  A  little  way  back  were  the  sta- 
bles, and  the  roomy  carriage- house,  and  the  cribs 
with  their  hay-piled  lofts.  Then,  again,  the 
feathery  green  of  the  hedge  ;  and  beyond  all,  the 
great  yellow  river  that  glinted  and  gleamed  under 
the  blue  sky. 

The  little  nook  itself  was  overhung  on  one  side 
by  lithe,  long-reaching  festoons  from  the  rose- 
hedge  ;  and  on  the  other  by  a  low-branched  wild- 
peach  tree.  A  blossoming  honeysuckle  covered 
the  screen-like  trellis  at  the  back,  and  swung  its 
tendrils  along  the  bench  where  my  brothers  used 
to  sit,  making  believe  to  study  their  Latin  verbs 
while  Tom  Dennison,  their  tutor,  walked  up  and 
down  the  orange-avenues  with  sweet  cousin  Nellie 
Branscome. 

"  Dar  now !  "  said  Mandy  at  last,  stepping  back 
to  survey  the  table  which  looked  very  fine  indeed, 
with  a  big  blue  cup  of  white  sugar  at  one  end, 
and  a  bunch  of  raisins  at  the  other,  and  bits  of 


46          IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

broken  china  —  gilt-edged,  some  of  them  were, 
and  one  even  had  a  dainty  moss-rose  bud  on  it  — 
along  the  sides.  "  Dar  now !  Spec  Mammy  done 
bakin'  fer  Mis'  Lucy  by  dis  time.  Jes  you  watch 
dat  table,  Mis'  Ma'y,  an'  keep  dem  borodacious 
chillun  fum  eatin'  up  de  party,  whilse  I  run  fetch 
de  poun'-cake." 

She  darted  down  the  weed-grown  path  in  the 
direction  of  the  stable-yard,  and  in  a  moment  was 
out  of  sight. 

No  sooner  was  she  gone  than  Sissy-Maria,  in 
the  very  squeakiest  tone  I  could  assume  for  her, 
demanded  to  be  "  taken  out  visitin'." 

"No,  Sissy-Maria,  my  child,"  I  replied  in  my 
most  maternal  voice,  "  Mis'  Dixylan'  is  down  to 
Nu-Leens,  an'  you  can't  by  no  means  go  to  see 
Florence-Pope." 

Sissy-Maria  began  to  cry  and  I  was  shaking  my 
finger  at  her  and  scolding,  when  a  voice  which 
seemed  to  come  from  somewhere  over  my  head, 
said,  "Don't  scold  Sissy-Maria!  I'll  play  'ladies' 
with  you  till  Mandy  comes  back." 

I  jumped  up  and  looked  around   bewildered. 


MANDY'S  DOLL-PARTY. 


47 


At  first  I  thought  it  must  be  my  brother  Tom 
come  back  from  the  war.  I  peered  up  into  the 
wild-peach,  half-expecting  to  see  his  mischievous 
eyes  sparkling  down  at  me.  I  ran  around  behind 
the  trellis  where  both  the  boys  used  sometimes 
to  crouch,  waiting  to  jump  out  at  me  as  I  stepped 
in  the  play-house.  A  low  chuckle  of  amusement 
followed  me  as  I  ran  back  alarmed  at  finding  no 
one  in  sight.  I  looked  up  again  at  the  sound, 
and  then  I  saw  laughing  down  at  me  from  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge  a  sunburned  boyish  face, 
which  disappeared  immediately,  and  almost  imme- 
diately re-appeared  at  that  very  hole  in  the  hedge 
—  a  little  choked  now  with  interwoven  vines  — 
through  which  my  brother  Tom  used  to  creep  in 
and  out.  The  next  moment  a  boy  came  crawling 
into  the  play-house,  dragging  a  gun  after  him. 

He  stood  up  and  gave  himself  a  shake,  and 
leaned  his  gun  against  the  trunk  of  the  wild-peach, 
and  then  sat  down  on  the  bench  and  looked  at 
me  with  a  funny  twist  in  his  eyes  that  made  me 
feel  at  home  with  him  at  once. 

He  was  about  as  old  as  brother  Tom,  I  thought, 


48  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE   BLANCHE. 

and  as  tall  and  slim,  with  brown  curling  hair  like 
his,  and  frank  sunny  blue  eyes  ;  and  there  were 
brass-buttons  on  his  jacket  and  stripes  down  the 
legs  of  his  trousers,  by  which  signs  I  knew  he 
must  be  "  in  the  war." 

We  gazed  at  each  other  a  moment  in  silence, 
and  then,  as  he  took  up  Adelmina  and  began 
dancing  her  on  his  knee,  I  asked  from  the  head 
of  the  table  where  I  was  seated,  — 

"  Who  are  you  ? " 

"Well  —  I'm  one  of  your  new  neighbors,"  he 
replied,  hesitating  a  little. 

"Oh!"  said  I,  wondering  if  they  had  come  to 
live  at  Bon  Soldat,  which  had  been  vacant  ever 
since  Captain  Brion  was  killed  at  Bull  Run,  and 
Madame  Brion  had  gone  away,  taking  Angelique 
and  Odille,  my  friends  and  playmates,  with  her. 
"I  hope  your  mother  likes  it  here?"  I  added,  with 
a  wish  to  be  polite. 

He  looked  at  me  queerly  and  for  a  minute  I 
thought  he  might  be  going  to  cry. 

"  Have  you  got  any  sisters  ? "  I  went  on  with- 
out waiting  for  a  reply  to  my  last  observation. 


MANDY'S  DOLL-PARTY. 


49 


He  brightened  up.  "Yes,"  he  cried.  "One. 
The  jolliest  little  chap !  About  your  size.  And 
you  look  just  like  her  !  " 

I  was  a  good  deal  excited  over  this  possible 
companion  of  mine  and  I  poured  out  a. volume  of 
questions  about  her,  all  of  which  he  answered  with 
an  eager  delight  which  almost  equalled  my  own. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  I  knew  that 
her  name  was  "  Ally,"  and  she  had  five  dolls,  and 
a  pony,  and  a  dog  named  "Caesar,"  and  was  nearly 
nine  years  old  (like  me)  ;  and  she  practised  her 
scales  some,  but  didn't  like  to  do  it,  and  generally 
cried  when  she  didn't  get  what  she  wanted  —  like 
me! 

"  Are  you  in  the  war  ? "  I  demanded,  returning 
abruptly  to  my  visitor's  own  personal  history.  He 
nodded.  "  I  s'pose  you've  got  a  furlough  ? "  I 
went  on.  "  My  brother  Tom  is  in  the  war.  And 
my  brother  Hart  is.  And  cousin  Wesley  Brans- 
come  is.  And  now  father  is  too.  And  there  ain't 
no  men  left  'round  here  anywhere,  nor  boys  neither. 
I'm  glad  you've  come.  — O  dear  ! " 

This  last  exclamation  was  provoked  by  Lorena, 


50  IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

who  had  lurched  forward,  as  she  had  a  habit  of 
doing,  and  sprawled  herself  and  the  twins  in  the 
dust. 

The  boy  gathered  them  up  so  gently,  and  so 
carefully  restored  them  to  their  place,  that  I  pres- 
ently found  myself  relating  to  him  the  oft-repeated 
history  of  the  Mullenses,  a  certain  unfortunate 
family  of  wooden  dolls,  whose  arms  and  legs 
worked  so  beautifully,  and  who  had  suffered  mar- 
tyrdom at  the  hands  of  my  brother  Tom  and  his 
body-servant,  Dandy. 

My  strange  visitor  laughed  more  than  was  po- 
lite, I  thought,  at  this  sad  story,  and  I  retired 
within  myself  and  sat  eying  him,  pouting  and  dis- 
trustful. 

"  O  come,  little  Sis,  don't  be  mad,"  he  cried 
coaxingly.  "  Let's  play  '  ladies.'  I  play  '  ladies ' 
with  Ally.  But  I  used  to  growl  about  it  some- 
times," he  added  as  if  to  himself,  shaking  his 
head  ruefully.  "Wouldn't  I  be  good  to  her  now, 
if  I  had  a  chance,  though !  Who  are  you  going 
to  be  ? " 

"  Oh  1 "  —  I  was  all  good-nature  again  —  "  I'm 


MANDY'S  DOLL-PARTY.  51 

always    Mis'    Meddlelan  —  from    the    song,   you 

know : 

His  torchers  sat  thy  temper  toret 

Meddlelan,  my  Meddlelan. 
I  think  it's  such  a  pretty  name,  don't  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  returned  gravely ;  "  I  do.  And  must 
I  be  Mis'  Dixylan'  ? " 

He  certainly  was  a  delightful  boy.  You  would 
never  believe  how  he  doctored  Lodore's  sore 
throat ;  and  how  he  scolded  Lorena  for  taking 
the  twins  out  in  the  sun ;  and  how  he  listened 
when  I  told  him  how  hard  it  was  to  get  my  floors 
waxed  "  p'operly,"  and  what  a  good  "  subserstute  " 
parched  potatoes  were  for  sho'-'nough  coffee ;  and 
such  like  talk  proper  between  ladies  visitin'  to- 
gether. He  was  a  great  deal  nicer  than  Mandy 
to  play  with.  I  told  him  so  and  I  was  even  say- 
ing that  I  hoped  Mandy  would  stay  up  at  the 
house  and  — 

He  jumped  up  tumbling  Florence-Pope  and 
Adelmina  to  the  ground,  seized  his  gun  and  dis- 
appeared, all  in  a  second,  I  never  knew  how,  from 
my  bewildered  sight. 


52  IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

And  here  came  Uncle  Joshua  running  bare- 
headed through  the  orange-grove  and  calling  at 
every  step  :  "  Little  Miss  !  Miss  Ma'y !  Miss 
Ma'y  !  Whar  is  you  ?  whar  is  you  ? " 

And  Mammy  panted  along  behind  him  crying, 
"  O  my  chile !  my  chile !  Dey  is  took  my  chile ! " 
They  uttered  a  fervent  "  Bress  de  Lord  ! "  as  they 
caught  sight  of  me,  and  a  moment  later  Uncle 
Joshua  had  gathered  me  up  in  his  strong  arms 
and  was  flying  back  to  the  house,  Mammy  follow- 
ing and  praying  as  she  ran.  I  was  dumb  with  as- 
tonishment and  fright,  and  only  when  my  mother, 
who  clasped  me  to  her  breast  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps,  had  brought  me  into  her  own  room,  where 
the  four  little  boys,  and  cousin  Nell,  and  Mandy 
and  all  the  house-maids  were  huddled  together, 
did  I  dare  to  ask  what  it  all  meant.  I  was  sure 
that  my  father  was  taken  prisoner,  or  that  one,  or 
both,  of  my  brothers  were  killed.  "  Oh !  what  is  it  ? " 
I  implored,  trembling  and  clinging  to  mother. 

"  The  Yankees  are  come,"  everybody  in  the 
room  said  at  once  in  an  awful  whisper.  Even  little 
Percy  breathed  "  Yantees  is  turn  !  " 


MANDY  S    DOLL-PARTY.  53 

I  stood  a  moment  speechless  and  terrified. 
Then  the  extent  of  my  own  special  calamity  burst 
upon  me.  "  O,  Mandy,  Mandy ! "  I  shrieked, 
"they'll  capshur  Sissy-Maria,  an'  Florence-Pope, 
an'  Lodore  an'  Lorena,  an'  the  twins,  an'  Adel- 
mi-na !  " 

The  two  or  three  days  that  followed  were  like  a 
dream.  Mandy  and  I  and  the  four  little  boys 
were  shut  up  with  cousin  Nell  in  mother's  room. 
Mother  herself  came  and  went  with  a  white,  sol- 
emn face,  Mammy  always  at  her  elbow,  and 
sometimes  Uncle  Joshua,  who  held  long,  mysteri- 
ous consultations  with  her.  Unusual  noises  from 
the  outside  reached  us  through  the  shuttered 
windows  which  we  were  forbidden  to  approach. 
Heavy  footsteps  echoed  along  the  halls  and  in  the 
rooms  below.  Then  gradually  these  sounds  ceased 
and  an  unnatural  quiet  seemed  to  reign  over  every- 
thing. I  had  never  been  in  the  house  so  long  be- 
fore since  I  could  remember,  except  when  I  had 
the  measles,  and  I  seemed  to  myself  to  be  shut 
up  in  one  of  those  enchanted  castles  which  brother 
Tom  used  to  tell  about  when  we  gathered  around 


54  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

him  on  the  front  steps  in  the  twilight.  And  the 
thought  of  Sissy-Maria  and  the  rest  was  heavy 
upon  my  heart. 

So,  at  last,  one  afternoon  when  mother  and 
Mammy  were  out  of  the  way,  and  cousin  Nell 
asleep  on  the  lounge,  and  the  little  boys  squab- 
bling over  their  playthings,  Mandy  and  I  stole  on 
tiptoe  into  the  hall  and  out  upon  the  veranda 
and  down  the  steps.  I  smothered  an  exclamation 
at  sight  of  the  cluster  of  white  tents  over  by  the 
sugar-house,  with  a  flag  floating  from  a  flag-pole  in 
their  midst !  And  on  the  warm,  sleepy  air  came 
the  faint  sound  of  a  drum. 

The  lawn  had  a  curiously  deserted  and  desolate 
look ;  scraps  of  paper,  and  rags,  and  corn-shucks, 
were  strewed  over  its  unkempt  grass ;  its  low 
hedges  were  trampled  and  broken  ;  the  rose-vines 
were  torn  from  the  trellises  and  lay  withering  on 
the  ground. 

I  noted  all  this  wonderingly,  as  Mandy  drew  me 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  in  the  direction  of 
the  stables.  "  Case,"  she  whispered,  while  we 
crept  stealthily  along,  "we  mus'  go  by  de  little 


MANDV'S    DOLL-PARTY. 


55 


crib-lof.  I'se  done  brung  some  corn-pone  fer  ter 
feed  Mis'  Hamilton." 

"  Mrs.  Hamilton  "  was  my  own  big  yellow  pet 
hen,  and  she  was  hatching  but  a  brood  of  chicks 
under  our  care. 

The  stable-doors  were  wide  open,  and  the  stalls 
deserted.  The  cribs  also  seemed  to  be  empty, 
their  doors  mostly  swinging  by  one  hinge,  or 
wrenched  off  entirely.  Not  a  soul  was  in  sight, 
and  not  a  creature,  of  the  many  creatures  feathered 
or  four-footed,  that  were  wont  to  make  the  stable- 
yard  so  busy  and  so  noisy. 

All  at  once  Mandy  clutched  my  arm.  "  My 
Ian' !  Miss  Ma'y,"  she  whispered,  "  'f  dar  ain't  one 
er  dem  borodacious  Yankees  now  !  "  My  heart 
flew  into  my  mouth.  I  tried  to  run,  but  seemed 
rooted  to  the  ground,  and  my  gaze  was  fascinated 
by  a  pair  of  blue-clad  legs  —  which  had  a  strangely 
familiar  look,  somehow  —  dangling  from  the  win- 
dow of  the  little  crib,  and  feeling  about  as  if  in 
search  of  the  top  of  a  short  plank  leaning  ladder- 
wise  against  the  wall.  The  head  and  shoulders  of 
their  owner  were  still  in  the  hay-loft  and  invisible. 


56  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

Mandy  waited  a  second  and  then  marched 
boldly  forward  and  threw  down  the  plank.  Then 
reaching  up  she  seized  one  of  the  legs  and  gave 
it  a  violent  jerk.  A  voice  above  remonstrated 
angrily,  but  she  held  on,  and  emboldened  by  her 
example  I  caught  the  other  leg  as  it  came  within 
reach,  and  —  there  we  were  in  a  confused  heap  on 
the  ground  —  Mandy  and  myself  and  the  Yankee  ! 
He  sprang  to  his  feet  scowling  frightfully  at 
Mandy,  but  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  me  his  face 
changed. 

"  Hello,  Mis'  Meddlelan  !  "  he  cried  joyfully. 

It  was  my  playfellow ! 

"  Are  you  a  Yankee  ? "  I  asked  soberly,  and  not 
quite  reassured. 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  admitted.  "  I  guess  I  am  —  a 
sort  of  a  one." 

"An'  what  was  you  doin'  in  my  hay-lof?" 

"  Hunting  eggs,"  he  replied  promptly.  "  I'm 
awful  fond  of  eggs.  Don't  your  brother  Tom  like 
'em  ? " 

At  this  my  severity  melted  away.  I  could 
almost  see  my  brother  Tom  sliding  down  the 


MANDY  S    DOLL-PARTY.  57 

side  of  that  very  crib,  with  his  hat  full  of  eggs 
to  roast  in  Mammy's  fire  for  you  and  me,  sis ' ! 

But  Mandy  poked  her  head  out  of  the  loft 
which  she  had  reached  in  some  way  known  only 
to  herself.  "  Miss  Ma'y,"  she  wailed  down  to  me, 
"  de  nes'  is  broke  up  an'  dey  is  tooken  Mis'  Hamil- 
ton !  "  I  ceased  to  smile  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Oh!  don't  cry,  little  Sis,  don't  cry,"  implored 
my  Yankee.  "  I  didn't  do  it,  'pon  honor  I  didn't. 
And  I've  brought  you  a  hired  girl.  Come  see  her." 

"  A  what  ?  "  I  dropped  the  corner  of  my  apron 
and  stared  at  him. 

"  A  new  help.  Didn't  you  say  you  wanted  one 
to  nurse  the  twins  ?  Come ! " 

He  took  my  hand  and  raced  me  gleefully  along 
the  path  to  the  play-house. 

Well,  there  was  everything  just  as  I  had  left  it, 
except  that  a  long  line  of  red  ants  was  crawling 
across  the  table  and  up  the  sides  of  the  blue  cup 
and  down  into  the  sugar ;  and  some  bees  were 
buzzing  over  the  bunch  of  raisins.  The  dolls 
were  sitting  primly  upon  their  bit  of  carpet  —  even 
Adelmina  and  Florence-Pope  had  somehow  got 


58  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE   BLANCHE. 

back  to  their  places.  Oh !  and  here  was  Lorena 
idle  like  a  grand  lady  by  Sissy-Maria.  And 
the  twins  were  clasped  in  the  arms  of  a  big 
wooden  doll,  with  flowing  scarlet  hair  and  beauti- 
ful staring  black  eyes.  I  flew  to  this  stranger 
and  took  possession  of  her  with  a  cry  of  ecstasy. 
She  had  on  a  dark-blue  flannel  dress  with  a  belt 
made  out  of  the  same  scarlet  silk  whose  ravelled 
threads  composed  her  scanty  locks.  Her  skin 
was  a  little  rough,  and  her  nose  uneven,  but  she 
could  sit  down,  having  a  lovely  bend  to  her  knees, 
and  her  nicely-jointed  arms  moved  both  at  shoul- 
der and  elbow. 

The  boy  stood  by  the  bench,  looking  down  at 
me  and  smiling.  "  I'm  glad  you  like  her,"  he 
said.  "  Her  name  is  Lucindy-Keturah.  I  whit- 
tled her  out  myself,  and  I  fixed  her  hair  and 
sewed  her  gown." 

"Oh!"  I  sighed,  "she's  just  ^-w-tiful !  Has 
Ally  got  one  like  her  ? " 

His  laughing  face  became  a  trifle  sober. 

"  You're  good,  good  if  you  are  a  Yankee,"  I 
went  on.  "  I'm  goin'  to  run  and  show  her  to 


"HER  NAME  is  LUCINDA-KETURAH,"  SAID  THE  YANKEE. 


M ANDY'S  DOLL-PARTY.  61 

mother.  Where  is  your  mother  ? "  I  broke  off 
with  a  sudden  recollection  of  the  new  neighbors. 

The  Yankee  boy's  lip  trembled  ;  a  flush  came 
into  his  cheek.  "  Home,"  he  said  briefly.  "  With 
Ally.  In  Massachusetts."  All  at  once  he  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands  and  sobbed  outright. 
"Oh ! "  he  cried,  "  if  I  could  only  see  my  mother." 

I  didn't  know  at  all  what  to  say,  and  so  I  stood 
quite  still  for  a  little  while.  And  then  I  reached 
up  and  patted  his  elbow  timidly. 

He  took  his  hands  away  from  his  face  and 
looked  at  me  ;  then  stooped  over  and  laid  his 
cheek  wet  with  warm  tears  against  my  own  ;  and 
then  without  another  word  walked  slowly  down 
the  hedge-path.  Presently  I  saw  him  rise  lightly 
into  the  air  as  he  leaped  over  the  hedge,  and  the 
sound  of  his  footsteps  echoed  up  the  lane  and 
died  away. 

"  Miss  Ma'y,"  said  Mandy  solemnly,  as  we 
stole  back  to  the  house,  "you  jes  ought  ter  be 
shame  er  yo'  sef.  I  gwine  tell  yo'  maw  dat  you 
done  talk  to  er  Yankee,  an'  done  'cepted  a  nuss 
fum  er  Yankee  —  an  'er  Yankee  whar  come  ter 


62  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

steal  aiggs  at  dat.  Yo'  maw  gwine  ter  be  powerful 
upsot,  and  she  gwine  ter  scole  yur  an'  mek  you 
bu'n  up  that  Lucindy-Kitury,  sho's  you  bawn." 

But  my  mother  did  not  scold  when  I  told  her 
the  story.  She  listened  with  a  soft  smile  on  her 
face,  and  unshed  tears,  whose  meaning  I  vaguely 
understood,  in  her  large  dark  eyes.  And  when 
I  had  finished  she  took  Lucindy-Keturah  and  laid 
her  hand  almost  caressingly  upon  the  shock  of 
scarlet  hair,  and  looked  at  the  clumsy  stitches  in 
the  blue  dress,  with  a  little  laugh  that  died  off 
into  a  sob  down  in  her  throat. 

And  that  night,  somewhere  "  'way  in  the  night," 
I  awoke  and  saw  her  kneeling  over  by  the  win- 
dow with  the  white  moonlight  all  around  her  and 
her  face  shining  out  of  it  as  the  Holy  Mother's 
face  shines  out  of  the  glory  that  is  about  her  in 
the  picture  over  the  altar  in  our  little  church 
down  by  the  river. 

I  sat  up  in  bed  and  asked,  as  I  had  asked  many 
and  many  a  time  before  during  the  past  year, 

"  Mother,  are  you  praying  for  father  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  replied  softly. 


MANDV'S   DOLL-PARTY.  63 

"And  for  your  Boys  in  Gray  who  are  so  far 
away  from  you  ? " 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  said  more  softly  still.  "For 
my  Boys  in  Gray.  And  for  the  Boy  in  Blue  too 
who  is  so  far  away  from  his  mother.  And  for  his 
mother,  God  help  her  1  God  help  us  all  1 " 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    DISH-RAG    BONNET. 

THE  four  little  boys  were  down  at  Mammy's 
cabin  the  day  she  planted  the  dish-rag 
gourd  seed.  And  from  that  time  on  they  used  to 
troop  there  every  morning,  like  four  little  Jacks 
out  of  the  Bean-Stalk  Story  to  see  how  the  vine 
was  coming  on. 

"  Dat  ar  gode,"  Mammy  would  say,  watching  it 
fondly  as  it  crept  up  the  sides  of  the  cabin,  stretch- 
ing out  its  soft  little  tendrils  to  clasp  here  a  knot, 
there  a  corner  of  the  flung-open  shutter,  and 
spreading  everywhere  its  broad  green  leaves  with 
their  pale  fuzzy  lining,  "dat  ar  gode-vine  gwine 
ter  be  ez  handy  ez  er  town-sto'  o'  er  tradin'-boat. 
Mis'  Lucy  ain't  gwine  ter  ha'  ter  werry  no  mo' 
'bout  dish-rags  an'  aperns  fer  dem  triflin'  no-'count 
house-gals ;  an'  ez  ter  fonnits  !  Miss  Nellie  say  ez 
64 


THE    DISH-RAG    BONNET.  65 

how  over  ter  Marse  Jeems's  Plantation  all  five  er 
de  young  ladies  is  done  got  dey  bonnits  fum  er 
gode  vine  like  dis  !" 

The  little  boys  talked  a  great  deal  among  them- 
selves about  this  wonderful  vine.  Would  the 
aprons  (they  asked  each  other)  be  all  blue  like 
those  Mammy  gave  out  every  two  days  to  M'lindy 
and  'Riah  and  Sophy  ?  or  striped  red  and  green 
like  the  one  she  herself  sometimes  put  on  of  after- 
noons ?  Would  the  dish-rags  be  white  with  a  tape- 
loop  in  one  corner  ?  And  the  bonnets  ?  They 
took  note  of  the  bonnets  in  church  one  Sunday, 
and  the  next  morning  they  counted  up,  together, 
seventeen  —  all  different  —  from  Madame  Michel's 
rusty  black  straw  with  its  white  inside  ruching,  to 
the  fluffy  pink  thing  —  a  network  of  crepe  and 
rose-buds  —  worn  by  Mademoiselle  Elise,  her 
pretty  grand-daughter  from  New  Orleans. 

It  was  little  Percy  who  found  the  first  flower, 
away  up  under  the  overhanging  eaves.  "  Oh,  a 
yeller  bonnet's  tummin' !  A  yeller  bonnet's  tum- 
min' !  "  he  shouted  to  the  others  ;  and  almost  cried 
when  it  proved  to  be  only  a  flower ! 


66  IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE   BLANCHE. 

But  the  yellow  trumpets  that  soon  hung  the 
vine  from  the  ground  to  the  very  top  of  the  peaked 
roof  were  pretty  enough,  and  so  were  the  long, 
slim,  emerald-green  gourds  that  presently  began 
to  show  under  the  leaves  and  to  thrust  themselves 
out  into  the  warm  sunshine.  "An'  bimeby," 
prophesied  Charley  confidently,  "  them  gourds  is 
goin'  to  bust  and  bloom  into  bonnits  —  all  over 
Mammy's  cabin  —  seventeen  kinds  of  'em.  An' 
into  aperns.  An'  into  dish-rags  !  " 

Meantime  they  came,  as  I  have  said,  every  day 
to  look  at  the  vine  and  to  play  in  its  shadow.  And 
no  wonder !  For  this  was  the  very  cosiest  spot  in 
all  the  Quarter.  Mammy's  cabin  stood  squarely 
across  one  end  of  the  long  double-row  of  white- 
washed cabins  that  stretched  between  the  further 
edge  of  the  grounds  and  the  rear  cane-fields.  In 
the  little  patch  in  front  were  squares  of  cabbages 
and  beans ;  and  of  sweet  corn  whose  bronzing 
tassels  tossed  in  the  sun  ;  and  of  artichokes  whose 
dainty  cones  nestled  under  curious  ashy-green 
leaves ;  and  of  egg-plants  with  their  purplish-red 
globes ;  and  of  ochra  and  tomatoes  and  garlic. 


THE   DISH-RAG   BONNET.  67 

Hedge-like  rows  of  sage  and  fennel  and  rosemary 
and  lavender  bordered  these  tiny  squares,  and  in 
the  corners  grew  stout  rose-bushes  weighted  with 
great  pale-pink  "  damasks,"  filling  all  the  air  with 
a  delicious  odor  which  is  like  no  other  perfume 
in  the  world.  To  my  dying  day,  I  am  sure,  that 
a  whiff  of  one  of  these  old-fashioned  damasks  will 
bring  before  my  eyes  a  picture  of  Mammy's  cabin, 
vine-covered  and  tranquil,  with  its  one  window- 
shutter  flung  back,  and  a  broken  tea-cup  on  the 
sill  filled  with  wide  open  roses  scattering  their  pink 
petals  on  the  ground  below ;  and  a  thin  smoke 
curling  lazily  from  the  squat  chimney ;  and  the  lit- 
tle boys  playing  about  the  step  expectant  of  hot 
gingerbread ;  and  Mammy  herself  bustling  about 
the  wide  fireplace  within  ;  and  the  winds  of  sum- 
mer stirring  softly  by  from  the  river ;  and  a  ten- 
der blue  sky — that  seems  to  bend  so  low  that 
one  has  only  to  reach  up  a  hand  to  touch  it  — 
over  all. 

Four  or  five  great  umbrella-china  trees  shaded 
the  back-yard  where  generation  after  generation 
of  big-jointed  goslings  and  downy  chicks  and 


68  IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

fuzzy  ducklings  ran  noisily  about,  with  Jupe, 
Uncle  Joshua's  lean  brown  old  hound,  to  watch 
them  and  to  keep  out  intruders. 

Here,  too,  toddled  and  tumbled  and  frolicked 
the  babies  of  the  Quarter,  when  their  mothers 
were  at  work  in  the  cane-fields.  Old  Aunt  Rose, 
withered  and  wrinkled,  but  tall  and  straight,  who 
sat  in  a  big  chair  in  the  cabin-door  minding  them, 
came  over,  with  Grandpa's  Uncle  Silas,  from 
Africa,  where  she  was  a  Princess,  with  a  thousand 
"  niggers  "  of  her  own  —  so  she  used  to  tell  us  as 
we  hovered  around  her,  half-frightened,  half-fas- 
cinated by  her  strange  broken  speech  and  hollow 
voice,  and  by  the  curious  marks  which  banded  her 
forehead  and  circled  her  leathery  neck  and  arms. 

One  morning  —  the  slim  gourds  were  growing 
longer  and  longer  and  bursting-time  must  surely 
be  at  hand! — the  four  little  boys  and  Aunt  Ca'l- 
line's  six-year-old  "triplers,"  Marthy  and  Mary 
and  Laz'rus,  got  into  a  rough-and-tumble  conflict 
all  together.  I  don't  think  that  any  of  them  ever 
remembered  afterwards  what  it  was  about,  for 
just  as  Aunt  Rose  fell  upon  them  all  with  her 


THE   DISH-RAG    BONNET.  69 

terrible  frown  and  her  long  switch,  the  back  cane- 
field  seemed  suddenly  to  swarm  with  soldiers, 
who  came  leaping  across  the  ditch  and  over  the 
low  hedge.  Their  brass  buttons  glittered  as  they 
swept  past  the  cabin  and  poured  into  the  house 
yard  and  took  possession  of  the  kitchen  and 
smoke-house  and  surged  up  the  steps  of  the  back 
gallery. 

There  was  a  great  commotion  and  a  vast  deal 
of  confusion  and  of  hurrying  to  and  fro,  but  sev- 
eral of  the  men  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  the 
little  boys  and  pat  their  curly  heads,  when  they 
came  timidly  across  from  the  Quarter  and  edged 
their  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  house. 

"  Is  you  done  whipped  de  Yantees  ?  "  asked  lit- 
tle Percy  of  a  tall  fellow  who  had  a  sword  dan- 
gling from  his  belt.  The  soldier  laughed  and  said 
not  yet;  and  then  gathered  him  in  his  arms  and 
carried  him  up  the  steps  —  the  other  three  treading 
close  upon  his  heels  —  and  put  him  down  inside 
the  hall  where  mother  was.  And  by  the  time 
Uncle  Joshua  had  found  me  and  brought  me  up 
from  the  play-house,  they  all  knew  that  the  new- 


70  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

comers  were  none  other  than  "  the  Yankees " 
themselves. 

"  What  will  they  do  to  our  gourd-vine  ?  "  they 
used  often  to  ask  in  the  days  that  followed,  trot- 
ting after  Mammy,  or  tugging  at  mother's  skirts 
whenever  she  came  into  the  room  where  we  were. 

As  we  became  accustomed  to  the  stillness  which 
settled  over  everything  after  the  first  noisy  week 
when  the  blue-coated  strangers  roamed  at  will  over 
the  grounds,  or  lounged  through  the  house,  we 
were  allowed  to  creep  out  on  the  veranda  and 
listen  to  the  faint  sounds  of  music  and  laughter 
and  life  that  floated  across  from  the  camp  over 
by  the  sugar-house.  Our  own  familiar  home- 
noises —  the  cheery  clucking  of  hens,  the  patient 
low  of  cows,  the  neighing  of  horses,  the  clatter  of 
looms  and  whir  of  spinning-wheels  —  even  the  hur- 
rying bustle  of  the  house-girls  with  their  brushes 
and  brooms  and  Mammy's  imperious  voice  scold- 
ing them  and  keeping  them  in  order  —  all  this 
seemed  to  have  ceased  forever.  The  kitchen  was 
empty ;  the  outhouses  were  all  closed  ;  the  very 
Quarter  itself  seemed  deserted. 


THE    DISH-RAG    BONNET.  73 

Only  sometimes  a  squad  of  soldiers  tramped  up 
the  lane  toward  the  camp ;  or  a  single  shot  some- 
where broke  the  drowsy  stillness ;  and  sometimes 
in  the  early  gray  of  the  morning  strange  sounds 
came  from  the  river,  and  great  formless  things, 
half-seen  through  the  overhanging  mist,  surged  by 
on  the  yellow  flood,  breathing  heavily. 

And  then,  for  a  moment,  a  little  of  the  old  life 
and  activity  would  come  back.  The  cabin-doors 
would  open  suddenly  and  the  field-hands  would 
pour  out,  eager  and  questioning,  and  the  house- 
servants  would  crowd  around  the  steps,  or  gather 
on  the  ragged  lawn,  until  mother  came  out  to 
reassure  them. 

But,  at  last,  one  afternoon  —  it  was  after  the 
long  summer  had  faded  into  the  fall  and  the  blue 
haze  of  a  dying  November  overhung  the  waving 
bluish-green  cane-fields  and  the  yet-blooming 
hedges  —  when  we  looked  over  toward  the  camp 
we  saw  that  the  flag-pole  stood  up  slender  and 
bare  against  the  sky;  the  white  tents  had  disap- 
peared !  And  presently  we  heard  the  sound  of  a 
fife  and  drum.  It  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and 


74  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

all  at  once  there  were  the  soldiers  coming  with  a 
steady  echoing  tread  along  the  lane,  with  the 
pretty  striped  flag  moving  in  their  midst. 

Before  mother's  warning  voice  could  reach  us 
we  had  scampered  down  to  the  gate  —  Mandy  and 
I  and  the  four  little  boys  —  to  see  them  go  by. 
M'lindy  and  'Riah  and  Sophy  and  the  others  were 
already  there  looking  on  wonderingly. 

The  tall  fellow  in  front,  the  one  with  a  sword  at 
his  belt  who  had  carried  little  Percy  up  the  steps, 
saw  us  on  the  fence  and  took  off  his  hat  and  smiled 
as  he  went  by.  And  so  did  nearly  all  of  the  others. 
Then  the  little  boys  waved  their  ragged  home- 
made palmetto  hats  and  hurrahed  gayly  and  the 
soldiers  laughed  and  cheered  too. 

Suddenly  among  the  very  last  I  caught  sight  of 
a  face  that  I  knew  ! 

My  Yankee  playfellow's  cap  was  pulled  down 
upon  his  forehead ;  his  cheeks  were  flushed ;  his 
eyes  seemed  to  have  lost  their  merry  twinkle. 
My  heart  swelled  as  I  looked  at  him,  and  a  con- 
fused vision  of  my  brother  Hart  marching  off  to 
the  war,  and  little  Ally,  and  her  five  dolls,  and  my 


THE    DISH-RAG    BONNET.  75 

mother  kneeling  and  praying  in  the  white  moon- 
light, and  another  and  unknown  mother  kneeling 
too  and  praying,  rose  before  me. 

"Good-by,  Mis'  Meddlelan,"  he  called  out  wav- 
ing his  hand,  and  looking  back  when  he  had 
passed. 

"Good-by,"  I  called  after  him,  "good-by! 
good  "  — 

And  then  I  wondered  why  my  throat  should  fill 
up,  and  why  the  tears  should  come  streaming 
down  my  cheeks. 

The  boat  that  directly  swung  away  from  the 
landing  and  went  puffing  up  the  river,  only  carried 
them  a  few  miles  away.  They  had  changed  their 
quarters,  that  was  all.  And  a  blue-coat  still 
drifted  occasionally  along  the  lane,  or  between  the 
rows  of  cane  in  the  fields ;  or  even  sauntered  in 
and  sat  for  awhile  on  the  steps  of  the  veranda. 

But  the  spell  was  broken,  and  La  Rose  Blanche 
awoke.  Some  of  the  cabins  in  the  Quarter  were 
empty  and  remained  closed ;  but  the  most  took  on 
their  old  air  of  noisy  life.  The  long-disused  weav- 
ing-room was  opened  and  the  clatter  of  looms  and 


76  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

whirr  of  spinning-wheels  began  again.  A  little 
movement  even  re-commenced  about  the  stable- 
yard  where  a  few  forlorn  mules  stood  in  the  broken 
stalls  munching  nubbins.  In  the  house  M'lindy 
and  'Riah  and  Sophy  bustled  about  flourishing 
brooms  and  dusters,  cleaning  windows,  shaking 
rugs,  and  giggling  and  dodging  Mammy's  wrathful 
hand  as  of  old.  On  the  lawn  Jake  and  Grief  raked 
the  dead  leaves  into  heaps  and  burned  them  under 
Uncle  Joshua's  supervision,  and  Uncle  Joshua 
himself,  spade  in  hand,  pottered  about  the  rose- 
garden  singing,  as  he  always  did  when  he  had  a 
spade  in  his  hand,  "  Possum  up  de  gum-stump,  coony 
in  de  holler"  while  mother  and  Cousin  Nellie  went 
from  trellis  to  trellis  tying  up  vines  and  snipping 
off  dead  twigs  and  putting  things  to  rights  gen- 
erally. 

Of  course  the  very  first  day  of  our  release  from 
the  house,  the  four  little  boys  went  whooping  down 
to  Mammy's  cabin  to  inspect  the  dish-rag-gourd- 
vine. 

They  stopped  and  looked  at  each  other  in  a 
kind  of  silent  dismay  when  they  saw  it.  The  vine 


THE   DISH-RAG   BONNET.  77 

was  there,  oh,  yes !  But  the  leaves  had  nearly  all 
dropped  off  and  the  few  that  remained  were 
brown  and  shriveled.  The  pretty,  long  green 
gourds  had  grown  longer  and  bigger  indeed, 
and  hung  thick  against  the  cabin-walls  and  lay 
shoulder  to  shoulder  on  the  sloping  roof,  but  they 
had  become  discolored  and  shrunken  and  ugly. 

"  You  neen'ter  min'  dat,  chillen  ! "  Mammy  ex- 
claimed, appearing  in  the  cabin-door.  "  De  dish- 
rags,  an'  aperns,  an'  bonnits  is  sholy  inside  o'  dem 
godes.  I  gwine  ter  tote  er  armful  ter  Mis'  Lucy 
one  o'  dese  days  an'  ax  her  to  'splain  'bout  'em." 

They  stood  by,  a  little  dubious,  the  day  she  tore 
down  the  withered  vine  and  picked  off  the  gourds, 
laying  them  in  heaps  on  the  ground ;  but  they  fol- 
lowed her  gleefully  when  she  went  to  the  house, 
Charley  and  Sam  and  Will  each  hugging  a  load  of 
the  musky-smelling  things  ;  but  little  Percy  rode 
triumphantly  on  Mammy's  shoulder  with  a  big 
gingerbread  man  hot  from  Mammy's  own  oven 
clasped  in  his  arms  —  for  it  was  his  birthday. 

They  looked  on  with  wide-eyed  interest  while 
mother  peeled  off  the  outer  rind  of  the  gourds  and 


78  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

ran  her  scissors  through  the  pale  yellow  spongy 
mass  inside,  and  cut  open  carefully  the  odd  little 
seed-chambers. 

"  I  don't  think  we  shall  have  any  aprons  for 
M'lindy  and  'Riah  and  Sophy,"  she  said,  as  she 
spread  out  one  delicate  roll  of  network  after 
another;  and  she  smiled  down  at  the  excited  little 
faces  around  her.  "  But  here  are  really  dozens  of 
dish-rags  for  them  ;  and  now  we  are  going  to  find 
one  bonnet  at  least !  " 

What  a  time  we  all  made  over  that  bonnet  to  be 
sure !  How  we  watched  her  needle  as  it  flew  in 
and  out  embroidering  together  the  pretty,  lace-like 
strips  from  the  gourds.  What  a  hunt  we  had  for 
some  wire  to  run  under  the  edges  and  to  stiffen 
the  tall  silk  scoop  that  arched  over  the  front.  For 
it  was  of  the  pattern  known  to  us  inside  the  lines 
but  I  believe  unheard-of  in  the  outer  world,  as  a 
"  sky-scraper."  And  what  a  discussion  there  was 
before  mother  would  consent  to  cut  a  piece  out  of 
the  lilac  brocade  gown  — worn  by  our  great-great- 
grandmother  Selden  at  Governor  Claiborne's  In- 
auguration Ball  at  New  Orleans,  in  the  beginning 


THE    DISH-R/VG    BONNET.  79 

of  the  century  —  for  the  strings  and  the  sky-scraper. 
And  how  pretty  it  was  when  it  was  finished ! 

"  Did'n'  I  tole  you  dem  godes  uz  gwine  ter  be 
powerful  handy  !  "  exclaimed  Mammy  admiringly. 

"  We  knowed  our  vine  was  goin'  to  bloom  bon- 
nets and  dish-rags  ! "  chorused  the  little  boys. 

But  the  bonnet  was  laid  on  a  shelf  in  the 
armoire,  for  something  of  more  importance  than 
the  making  of  a  bonnet  was  to  be  done  that  day. 
Uncle  Joshua  knew  of  a  man  who  was  about  to 
try  to  "get  through  the  lines"  and  mother  was 
going  to  send  a  box  to  father  and  the  boys. 

We  all  flocked  out  on  the  back-gallery  to  help 
pack  it.  It  was  not  a  very  big  box,  but  a  great 
deal  somehow  went  into  it.  There  were  socks 
and  shirts  for  father  and  brother  Tom  and  brother 
Hart  and  cousin  Wesley  Branscome,  and  for  Dandy 
and  Virgil.  There  was  a  dainty  little  tobacco- 
pouch  for  Tom  Dennison  with  cousin  Nellie's  ini- 
tials on  it ;  and  some  Perique  tobacco  for  father 
from  Uncle  Joshua ;  and  a  little  package  of  tea 
and  some  sure-enough  coffee  —  the  last  we  had ; 
and  an  uneven-looking  and  rather  soiled  "  com- 


8o  IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

forter "  which  Mandy  and  I  had  taken  turns  to 
knit  for  father ;  and  two  fine  soft  silk  handker- 
chiefs, with  a  Toreador  embroidered  in  the  corners, 
for  brothers  Tom  and  Hart.  These  last  were  my 
own  and  had  come  in  uncle  James'  blockade-run- 
ner from  Mexico,  and  I  hesitated  and  looked  at 
mother  when  I  brought  them  out.  "  Yes,  dear," 
she  said,  "send  them  if  you  like.  We  all  want 
to  give  to  our  soldiers  the  most  precious  things 
that  we  have." 

There  were  other  packages  too  of  socks  and 
handkerchiefs  and  the  like,  for  needy  comrades. 

I  did  not  wonder  now  to  see  mother's  tears 
dropping  upon  all  these  things  as  she  folded  and 
laid  them  in,  for  I  too  was  beginning  to  under- 
stand. 

When  the  packing  was  done  we  followed  mother 
into  the  rose-garden,  leaving  Uncle  Joshua  to  nail 
up  and  mark  the  box  and  smuggle  it  down  to  the 
river  where  the  man  would  be  waiting  after  dark 
in  his  dug-out. 

The  next  Sunday  we  were  all  ready  for  church. 
The  carriage  drawn  by  a  pair  of  rickety  old  mules 


THE   DISH-RAG   BONNET.  8 1 

was  waiting  at  the  steps  with  Uncle  Joshua  on  the 
driver's  seat. 

Mother  had  put  on  her  new  black-and-white 
check  home-spun  dress,  with  its  black  velvet  collar 
and  buttons  and  dainty  neck-ruffle  of  fine  old  yel- 
low lace ;  she  had  drawn  on  the  black  silk  gloves 
made  of  a  pair  of  Grandmother  Selden's  lavender- 
scented  stockings ;  she  had  a  cluster  of  winter- 
roses  at  her  belt,  and  she  was  waiting  for  Cousin 
Nellie  to  fetch  her  new  dish-rag  bonnet  from  the 
armoire. 

"  I  clar  ter  goodness,  Mis'  Lucy,"  said  Mammy 
who  stood  in  front  of  her  with  her  hands  resting 
on  her  ample  hips  and  her  turbaned  head  on  one 
side,  "  I  clar  ter  goodness,  I  is  done  dress'  you 
fer  yo'  firs'  communion ;  I  is  done  dress  you  fer 
yo'  comin'-out  party,  an'  I  is  done  dress  you  fer 
yo'  weddin' ;  an'  I  sholy  is  never  seen  you  look  ez 
sweet  ez  you  does  in  dat  ar  home-spun !  An'  I 
wishes  dat  Marse  John  could  see  you  dis  minnit, 
honey,  dat  I  does  ! " 

A  soft  little  flush  passed  over  mother's  pale 
face  and-her  lips  trembled.  But  just  then  Cousin 


82  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

Nellie  came  flying  in.  "  Aunt  Lucy,"  she  cried 
breathlessly,  "your  dish-rag  bonnet  Ysgone!" 

And  sure  enough  it  was  gone.  There  was  not 
a  sign  of  it  in  the  armoire,  or  anywhere.  A  great 
hubbub  followed  the  fruitless  search.  Everybody 
talked  and  wondered  at  once. 

It  was  more  exciting  even  than  the  advent  of 
the  Yankees ! 

In  the  midst  of  the  commotion  little  Percy  came 
strolling  in,  his  hands  behind  his  back  and  his 
new  jeans  hat  set  firmly  on  his  yellow  curls. 
When  he  understood  what  it  was  all  about  he 
stood  suddenly  still  and  turned  an  astonished  little 
face  toward  mother. 

"Why,  muzzer,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  sought  you 
fordot  it,  an'  I  yunned  an'  put  it  in  ee  bokt" 

"  What  box  ? "  asked  mother,  puzzled. 

"  Ee  solyer's  bokt,"  he  replied,  spreading  out 
his  little  hands,  and  lifting  his  small  shoulders, 
and  rolling  up  his  eyes,  like  a  Diego.  "  You  said 
'at  you  wanted  ee  solyers  to  have  ee  mos'  pesstis 
sings,  an'  I  come'd  to  get  my  ginger-b'ead  man  'at 
Mammy  made  me,  an'  I  saw  'at  pessus  bonnit,  an' 


THE    DISH-RAG    BONNET.  83 

I  yunned  an'  'tuffed  ee  bonnit  an'  ee  ginger-b'ead 
man  in  ee  bokt  for  ee  solyers.  Was'n  nobody 
yare,  an'  den  Unk  Josh  he  come'd  an'  nailed  up 
ee  bokt." 

And  big  tears  began  rolling  down  his  fat  cheeks 
and  dropped  like  rain  upon  his  new  jeans  kilt. 

But  by  this  time  mother  was  kneeling  on  the 
floor  beside  him  with  her  arms  around  him  laugh- 
ing and  crying  in  the  same  breath ;  and  Mammy 
was  hovering  over  them  both  laughing  and  crying 
too. 

"  My  land  ! "  exclaimed  Mandy  who  was  stand- 
ing by,  "dat  fool-nigger,  Dandy,  kin  eat  de  gin- 
gerbread man  ef  it  ar  hard  ez  er  rock  time  it  gits 
dar.  But  what  dem  soldiers  gwine  ter  do  wid 
Mis'  Lucy's  dish-rag  bonnit ! " 

But  the  box  never  reached  them  after  all! 
Whether  some  needier  rebels  pounced  upon  it  on 
the  way  and  wore,  God  bless  them !  the  things  in- 
tended for  our  own,  or  whether  indeed  it  fell  into 
alien  hands  and  never  got  through  the  lines  at  all, 
we  never  knew,  for  we  never  heard  of  it  after- 
ward. 


84  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

But  even  yet  we  sometimes  wonder  —  can  any 
one  tell  us  ?  — who  got  the  dish-rag  bonnet ! 

NOTE.  — Luffa  acutangula.  is  the  botanical  name  of  the  gourd-vine 
commonly  known  as  "  Torchon  "  in  French,  "  Dish-rag  "  in  English. 
The  gourds,  which  are  cucumber-shaped  and  quite  long,  must  be  plucked, 
for  use,  before  the  outer  rind  has  quite  hardened ;  it  then  peels  off  like 
the  skin  of  a  banana.  Within  is  a  roll  of  spongy  substance  of  a  lovely 
pale  lemon  color,  containing  a  number  of  rows  of  seed  vessels.  When 
this  roll  is  cut  open  it  makes  a  strip  four  or  five  inches  wide,  the  length  of 
the  gourd ;  and  the  seed-chambers  being  clipped  and  the  seed  taken  out  a 
very  beautiful  surface  is  presented  of  alternating  smooth  and  raised  bands. 

During  the  war  a  variety  of  articles  were  manufactured  from  these 
gourds ;  the  strips  were  cut  and  sewed  into  bonnets,  baskets  and  some- 
times fancy  aprons  bound  on  the  edges  with  cambric  and  tied  back  with 
colored  ribbons.  It  has  always  been  used  in  the  South  by  the  negroes  for 
dish-rags,  hence  the  common  name. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   MORNING-GLORY. 

DEY  is  sholy  fightin'  up  yander  somewhurs 
pas'  de  ben'  o'  de  river,"  said  Uncle  Joshua 
shaking  his  head  mournfully.  "  Dat  rumberlin' 
am  de  canyun-balls  bustin'  fum  de  canyuns,  an' 
dat  crackerlin'  am  de  shot-guns  an'  de  muskits. 
Oh,  Lord !  what  foolishness  is  done  tu'n  de  hade 
o'  Dy  people  dat  mek  'em  lif  up  de  han'  ginse  one 
anoder  ter  'stroy  de  Ian',  an'  ter  full  up  de  Val- 
ley o'  Armyergedjen  wid  blood  eenermos'  ter  de 
bridles  o'  de  hosses  !  —  Don't  you  be  skeered,  Mis' 
Lucy,  honey,"  he  broke  off  abruptly,  turning  his 
kindly  old  face  toward  my  mother.  "  Don't  you  be 
skeered ;  ain't  nobody  gwine  ter  tech  er  ha'r  o'  yo' 
hade  whilse  yo'  Uncle  Joshua  han'  am  hot." 

A  heavy  boom  like  the  crash  of  distant  thunder 
had  startled  us  as  we  sat  at  the  breakfast-table. 

85 


86  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

Mother  had  arisen,  trembling,  when  the  sound 
came  again  —  and  again  —  and  finally  seemed  to 
be  merged  into  one  continuous  roar  that  palpitated 
along  the  ground  and  made  the  house  quiver 
faintly  beneath  our  feet.  She  had  gene  out  on 
the  back  veranda,  leaving  the  food  untouched  on 
her  plate  ;  and  there  the  household  was  gathered 
—  black  and  white  —  listening  and  looking  in 
strained  expectation. 

A  cold  little  wind  blew  in  our  faces,  but  the 
azure  January  sky  laughed  cloudless  in  the  yellow 
sunshine,  save  where  a  vaporous  ridge  of  smoke 
was  gradually  spreading  along  the  tops  of  the 
moss-hung  trees  in  the  bend  of  the  river. 

As  the  morning  wore  away,  sharper  and  shriller 
sounds  smote  our  ears,  coming  nearer  one  while, 
and  then  receding  like  the  waves  of  the  sea;  and 
sometimes  we  almost  thought  we  heard  confused 
cries  and  hoarse  shouts. 

At  first  there  had  been  a  good  deal  of  noise 
and  excitement  about  the  place.  The  field-hands 
came  hurrying  in ;  the  women  ran  up  and  many  of 
them  crept  under  the  veranda  of  the  "  great-house," 


A   MORNING-GLORY.  87 

or  huddled  in  the  lower  halls ;  the  men  hung,  hes- 
itating, around  the  cabins  in  the  Quarter  for  a 
while  and  then  disappeared  ;  old  Aunt  Rose  came 
across  the  back-yard  driving  the  forgotten  babies 
before  her  like  a  flock  of  little  brown  woolly  sheep ; 
and  mounting  the  steps  painfully  between  Uncle 
Joshua  and  Mammy  she  was  placed  in  mother's 
own  chair  in  the  wide  sitting-room,  where  a  cheer- 
ful wood-fire  blazed,  and  where  the  babies  toddled 
about  as  much  at  home  on  the  flowered  carpet  as 
on  the  bare  floor  of  Mammy's  cabin. 

After  a  while,  however,  a  stillness  fell  over  La 
Rose  Blanche  and  over  the  group  on  the  gallery. 
Even  the  four  little  boys  sat  hand-in-hand  in  a  row 
together  on  the  top  step,  silent,  and  with  small 
sober  faces  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  un- 
wonted sounds. 

But  they  jumped  up  and  flew  to  Mammy,  hiding 
their  faces  in  her  skirts,  as  old  Jupe,  who  was 
lying  at  their  feet,  lifted  his  head  suddenly  and 
uttered  a  long  lugubrious  howl,  and  at  the  same 
moment  a  volley  of  shots  rang  sharply  out  at  the 
further  edge  of  the  rear  cane-fields,  followed  by  a 


88  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

rushing  trampling  sound,  and  another  but  more 
irregular  volley. 

And  a  confused  mass  of  men  came  flying  across 
the  yellow  stubble  of  the  field,  striding  over  the 
low  hedge  and  leaping  the  ditch,  almost  at  the 
very  spot  where  the  soldiers  had  come  swarming 
over  last  summer.  Only,  these  flying  men,  who 
clutched  their  guns  and  breathed  heavily  as  they 
ran,  wore  gray  uniforms.  Their  faces  were  grimy 
with  smoke  and  dust ;  and  here  and  there  one  wore 
a  bloody  bandage  about  his  head  in  lieu  of  a  cap. 

Some  of  them  glanced  up  as  they  dashed  ob- 
liquely across  the  yard,  and  one,  a  boyish  fellow 
with  dark  eyes  shining  in  his  swarthy  face,  even 
smiled  and  cheered  as  he  caught  sight  of  mother's 
down-stretched  arms  and  silent  prayerful  face. 
He  disappeared  with  the  rest  around  the 'corner 
of  the  house  ;  others  passed  lower  down  by  the 
stables  and  swept  across  the  orange-plantation ; 
others  further  down  still,  skirted  along  the  hedge 
—  in  all  perhaps  a  couple  of  hundred  men,  though 
they  seemed  thrice  that  number. 

Sharp  shots  still  echoed  behind  them,  and  hardly 


A   MORNING-GLORY.  89 

had  they  begun  to  leap  over,  or  break  through 
the  rose-hedges  bordering,  on  either  side,  the  wide 
lane,  when  a  straggling  line  of  men  in  blue  came 
panting  over  the  cane-stubble,  and  striding  the 
low  hedge,  and  leaping  the  ditch  and  rushing 
across  the  grounds  in  hot  pursuit. 

We  ran  down  the  long  hall  and  out  upon  the 
front  veranda,  and  stood  there  breathless.  It  was 
like  a  dream,  with  men  as  phantoms  blown  across 
it!  Not  a  word,  or  a  cry  except  that  one  little 
cheer  that  broke  from  the  dark-eyed  boy  as  he 
sped  past,  had  escaped  the  lips  of  pursued  or  pur- 
suer since  they  came  first  in  sight. 

And  now,  the  foremost  line  —  though  indeed, 
neither  blue  nor  grey  were  formed  in  lines,  but 
dashed  along  in  irregular  and  broken  squads  that 
were  here  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  there  were 
wide  apart — the  grey  line  was  now  sweeping 
across  the  field  beyond  the  lane  ;  we  saw  them  run 
up  the  sloping  embankment  of  the  wide  ditch  that 
marks  the  boundary  of  La  Rose  Blanche.  Their 
forms  stood  dark  and  sharply  outlined  for 'a  brief 
second,  against  the  sky ;  then  dropped  out  of  sight. 


90  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

Their  pursuers,  hardly  equalling  them  in  num- 
bers, followed  impetuously ;  but  stopped  suddenly, 
as  a  flash  of  fire  ran  along  the  weedy  edge  of  the 
embankment,  a  puff  of  bluish  vapor  arose,  and  a 
rattling  volley  burst  and  went  echoing  by.  For  a 
long  time  —  it  seems  to  me  as  I  remember  it, 
though  it  was  in  reality  perhaps  but  a  few  mo- 
ments—  the  blue  coats  held  their  ground,  and  the 
crash  of  interchanging  shots  filled  the  air  with 
confusion. 

M'lindy  and  'Riah  and  Sophy  fled  shrieking  into 
the  hall,  but  I  think  none  of  the  others  stirred  — 
the  little  boys  only  shrunk  closer  to  Mammy  and 
Uncle  Joshua ;  and  Mandy  and  I  pressed  a  little 
nearer  to  mother  and  cousin  Nellie,  as  the  bullets 
came  whizzing  by.  One  even  struck  a  post  of  the 
veranda  just  above  where  cousin  Nellie's  canary 
swung  in  its  gilded  cage,  flattened  and  fell  on  the 
steps.  Mammy  reached  up  and  unhooked  the 
cage.  "Hit's  dadc"  she  said  with  a  sob,  as  she 
took  out  the  little  creature,  which  had  not  been 
struck  by  the  ball,  but  had  perhaps  died  of  fright. 
The  fluffy  yellow  ball  lying  motionless  in  Mammy's 


A    MORNING-GLORY.  9! 

large  dusky  palm  stands  out  curiously  vivid  amid 
the  disordered  memories  of  that  fearful  time. 

There  was  a  sudden  wavering  among  the  men  in 
blue ;  they  fell  back ;  at  first  step  by  step,  and 
then  more  rapidly.  Then  from  behind  the  em- 
bankment the  "men-  in  grey  arose.  They  appeared 
once  more  outlined  against  the  sky,  and  a  yell, 
hoarse,  harsh,  terrible,  burst  from  them  as  they 
rushed  down  the  slope.  A  swift  light,  like  a 
streak  of  forked  lightning,  darted  along  their  now 
almost  compact  ranks.  It  was  the  glinting  of  the 
low  sun  upon  their  bayonets  and  upon  their  pol- 
ished gun-barrels. 

It  seemed  but  a  moment  before  they  all  panted 
by  again  ;  the  straggling  line  of  blue  followed  this 
time  by  the  straggling  line  of  grey,  leaping  the 
ditch,  striding  over  the  hedge,  sweeping  across  the 
yellow  stubble,  and  plunging  into  the  wood.  An 
occasional  shot  came  ringing  back,  and  once  again 
the  wild  yell  was  borne  to  us,  fainter,  but  more  ex- 
ultant still ;  but  soon  we  heard  nothing  but  the 
distant  boom  of  the  cannon,  which  itself  was  com- 
ing at  longer  intervals,  and  which  died  away  in 


Q2  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

silence  as  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun  turned  to 
a  dark  yellowish  red  the  low-lying  cloud  of  smoke 
caught  on  the  tree-tops  in  the  bend  of  the  river. 

"  Tears  like  dey  all  uz  playin'  Deer  an'  Dogs," 
remarked  Mandy.  "An'  hit's  powerful  hard  ter 
tell  which  air  de  deer  an'  which  air  de  dogs ! " 

When  we  ran  again  to  the  back  veranda  to  watch 
"  the  battle  "  —  as  we  always  called  it  afterward  — 
roll  back  into  the  wood,  we  found  two  soldiers 
seated  on  the  steps.  They  wore  faded  grey  uni- 
forms and  ragged  shoes  and  tattered  caps.  One 
of  them,  an  old  man  with  a  grey  beard,  and  homely, 
wrinkled  face,  was  tying  a  soiled  handkerchief 
about  the  other  one's  arm. 

"Oh,  it  ain't  nothin',  ma'am,"  said  the  boy,  for 
he  was  a  mere  lad,  looking  up  bashfully  at  mother 
and  cousin  Nell,  who  hovered  over  him  with  clean 
bandages  and  lint  and  healing-salve.  "Jest  a 
scratch,  ain't  it,  Dad?" 

The  old  man  was  presently  telling  mother,  while 
the  boy  ate  a  slice  of  bread  and  drank  some  milk, 
where  they  came  from  : 

"'Way  out  yander  by  the  Warloopy  River  in 


A    MORNING-GLORY.  93 

Texas.  The  ole  woman  an'  the  gals  is  thar  a-makin' 
of  the  craps,  and  an'  me  an'  Jake  air  a-carryin'  on 
the  war !  "  He  laughed  gayly  and  passed  an  affec- 
tionate arm  around  Jake's  thin  shoulders.  "  Come, 
Jake,"  he  added,  rising  to  his  feet,  "  the  boys'll 
be  a  hikin'  away  'fore  we  git  thar  'f  we  don't  look 
out.  We  jest  put  in  fur  a  little  scrimmage,  ma'am ; 
the  Yanks  air  a  heap  too  many  fer  we-uns  roun' 
in  these  here  diggin's." 

And  they  trudged  away. 

We  watched  them  stepping  cheerily  across  the 
field,  the  boy  still  gathered  within  the  long  bony 
arm.  They  paused  and  looked  back  when  they 
reached  the  verge  of  the  field,  and  a  moment  later 
they  were  lost  to  sight. 

It  was  many  a  long  day  before  we  saw  a  grey 
uniform  again. 

The  next  morning  was  quiet  enough.  The 
women  and  boys  came  creeping  back  from  the 
swamp  to  which  they  had  fled  at  the  first  crack  of 
the  rifles ;  but  the  men,  except  Uncle  Joshua,  had 
for  the  time  wholly  disappeared. 

Old  Aunt  Rose  and  the  flock  of  babies  remained 


94  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

in  the  sitting-room ;  and  there  mother  was  tending 
one  of  Aunt  Ca'lline's  "triplers" — Marthy,  I 
think  it  was  —  who  had  a  fever  and  sore  throat, 
when  Uncle  Joshua  came  in,  his  face  wearing  a 
strange,  troubled,  frightened  look.  He  stooped 
over  mother  where  she  knelt  by  the  child's  pallet, 
and  said  something  to  her  in  a  low  voice.  A  still 
deeper  pallor  passed  over  her  pale  face.  She  stood 
up  and  motioned  to  cousin  Nellie  to  take  her  place, 
pressing  the  glass  and  spoon  she  held  into  her 
hand,  and  went  out  without  a  word. 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps,  when  she  found  that 
Mandy  and  I  and  the  four  little  boys  had  followed 
her,  she  turned  and  opened  her  lips  as  if  to  send 
us  back,  but  took  my  hand  instead  and  drew  me 
to  her  side.  Uncle  Joshua  led  us  through  the 
orange-plantation.  The  leafy  boughs  over  our 
heads,  broken  by  the  bullets  of  the  day  before, 
hung  down  dying  and  exhaling  a  sweet  musky 
perfume  ;  the  ground  in  many  places  was  trampled 
where  the  soldiers  had  passed  through  and  the 
dry  grass  was  crushed  into  the  brown  earth. 

We  neared  the  play-house ;  and  then  —  I  cannot 


A   MORNING-GLORY.  97 

tell  why  —  I  suddenly  divined  what  it  was  that  we 
had  come  out  to  see,  and  I  longed  to  stop,  but 
somehow  felt  as  if  I  could  not. 

He  was  lying  there  —  my  Yankee  playfellow  — 
close  under  the  shadow  of  the  broken  hedge,  not 
far  from  where  I  had  first  seen  him.  His  face, 
strange  and  pallid,  was  upturned  to  the  sky,  his 
eyes  were  wide  open,  all  their  laughing  blue  faded 
to  a  dull  opaque  grey.  One  arm  was  thrown  up 
over  his  head,  and  the  other  lay  across  his  breast, 
concealing  the  bullet  hole  in  his  jacket,  but  not  the 
dark  red  stain  which  spread  along  his  side  and  dyed 
the  brown  grasses  around  him.  His  gun  was  lying 
a  few  feet  away  where  it  had  fallen  from  his  nerve- 
less hand,  whose  white  fingers  were  still  bent  as  if 
to  grasp  it.  A  soft  dim  sunlight  —  for  the  sky  was 
clouding  —  streamed  over  him  and  a  bird  in  the 
wild  peach-tree  was  twittering  gently. 

My  mother  sprang  forward  with  an  agonized 
cry  —  the  only  one  wrung  from  those  brave  lips 
through  all  the  four  years  of  suspense  and  agony 
—  and  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  the  dead 
boy,  and  pressed  her  lips  to  his  cold  forehead. 


98  IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

I  stood  by  quivering,  but  tearless,  while  she 
wiped  the  ghastly  face  with  her  handkerchief,  and 
smoothed  back  the  brown,  curling  hair,  with  little 
inarticulate  caressing  murmurs;  and  pressed  the 
white  lids  over  the  staring  eyes,  and  sought  to 
compose  the  stiffened  limbs. 

But  I  burst  into  a  passion  of  weeping  when  she 
gently  opened  the  blood-stained  jacket  and  drew 
from  the  pocket  a  packet  of  letters  and  that  photo- 
graph of  the  sweet-faced  mother,  with  the  child 
that  "  looked  like  me  "  leaning  against  her  knee, 
which  he  had  shown  me  so  proudly  in  the  play- 
house that  unforgotten  summer  day. 

They  laid  him,  Uncle  Joshua  and  Mammy  and 
mother,  upon  the  linen  sheet  and  wrapped  its  thick, 
white,  scented  folds  tenderly  about  him.  And 
mother  sat  beside  him  while  Uncle  Joshua  and 
Mammy  dug  the  grave.  It  was  sundown  before 
the  resting-place  was  hollowed  deep  enough,  and 
by  that  time  the  sky  was  thick  with  clouds,  a  chill 
wind  had  arisen  and  heavy  drops  of  rain  were  be- 
ginning to  fall. 

Mandy  and  I  and  the  little  boys  had  dragged 


A    MORNING-GLORY.  99 

up  long  garlands  of  green  from  the  ruined  rose- 
hedge,  and  branches  from  the  wild  peach-tree; 
and  of  these  Uncle  Joshua  made  a  green  couch  in 
the  bottom  of  the  grave  where  the  earth  was  moist 
and  cold ;  and  upon  this  they  laid  him,  with  his 
gun  beside  him,  and  over  him  again  they  heaped 
the  glistening  green  of  rose-brier  and  honeysuckle. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  the  earth  was  rounded 
up  to  a  mound  above  him,  and  Uncle  Joshua  and 
Mammy  leaned  exhausted  on  their  spades.  Mother 
knelt  down  on  the  wet  ground,  her  white  face  shim- 
mering through  the  darkness,  and  prayed.  Her 
soft  clear  voice  seemed  to  fill  all  the  wild  night  and 
hush  it  to  repose. 

"  And  to  all  who  loved  him,  Father  be  merciful," 
she  breathed  at  last.  "  Bless  them  and  comfort 
them  and  give  them  of  Thy  peace.  And  upon  us 
also  have  mercy." 

"Amen"  sobbed  Uncle  Joshua. 

Then  Mammy,  who  was  crouched  at  the  foot  of 
the  grave  with  little  Percy  clasped  in  one  arm  and 
me  in  the  other,  began  to  rock  herself  slowly  from 
side  to  side  and  to  wail  softly,  and  presently  her 


100        IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

voice  arose  in  a  wild   strain  half-mournful,  half- 
triumphant  : 

I  looks  at  my  ban's  an'  my  ban's  looks  new. 
Gwine  whar  dey  ain't  no  mo'  dyin'l 

I  looks  at  my  feet  all  bathe'  in  dew, 
Gwine  whar  dey  ain't  no  mo'  dyin'  I 
Cryin'  amen,  Good  Lord,  cryin'  amen, 
—  Gwine  whar  dey  ain't  no  mo'  dyin'  1 

She  paused  abruptly,  and  when  she  began  again, 
Percy's  shrill  little  voice  joined  hers  and  soared 
with  it  out  into  the  ever-gathering  darkness : 

De  angel  come  an'  he  shet  my  eyes, 
Gwine  whar  dey  ain't  no  mo'  dyin'  I 

But  my  Lord  he'll  open  'em  in  Pa'adise, 
Gwine  whar  dey  ain't  no  mo'  dyin' ! 

Mother  leaned  over  and  touched  her  gently  on 
the  arm.  She  arose  and  swung  the  child  to  her 
shoulder  and  moved  away  toward  the  house,  still 
singing. 

The  strangely-blended  voices  floated  back  to  us 
as  we  followed  silently  through  the  down-pouring 
rain  : 

Cryin'  amen,  Good  Lord,  cryin'  amen, 
Gwine  whar  dey  ain't  no  mo'  dyin'. 


A    MORNING-GLORY.  IOI 

A  week  later,  pale  and  tottering  yet  from  the 
illness  brought  on  by  the  excitement  and  exposure 
of  that  terrible  day,  I  came  with  Mandy  out  of  the 
house.  The  storm  of  wind  and  rain  that  had 
lasted  three  or  four  days  had  been  the  breaking-up 
of  our  short  winter. 

There  were  no  flowers,  but  the  vines  on  the  trel- 
lises were  tossing  up  feathery  tufts  of  young  leaves ; 
the  lawn  was  green  and  gay  under  the  warm  sky ; 
and  as  we  passed  through  the  orange-grove  the 
little  warm  wet  grasses  were  soft  beneath  our  feet. 
In  the  branches  above  I  thought  that  I  smelled 
blossoms  though  we  could  not  find  any.  The  grave 
had  been  smoothed,  a  rough  cross  placed  at  the 
head  and  a  board  at  the  foot.  The  grass  had  not 
yet  had  time  to  grow  in  the  beaten  space  around. 

But  on  the  top  of  the  mound  itself,  nestling  close 
against  the  brown  earth,  lo  !  a  tiny,  pale-blue,  del- 
icate morning-glory  !  Such  haste  had  it  been  in 
to  bloom,  the  tender  little  thing,  that  it  had  hardly 
waited  for  the  vine  to  put  out  a  leaf,  and  had 
spared  no  time  for  a  curling  tendril,  but  hung 
there  on  the  end  of  the  single  fragile  stem,  sway- 


102         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

ing  in  the  light  breeze,  with  the  dew  upon  it  and 
a  faint  sweet  fragrance  at  its  heart. 

I  stooped  and  plucked  it.  "  For  little  Ally  and 
for  his  mother"  I  said  to  myself  softly. 

And  long  afterward,  the  withered  morning-glory 
was  laid  in  the  mother's  own  hand,  when  she  came 
to  us  and  knelt  hand-in-hand  with  my  mother  above 
her  boy's  sodded  grave. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  HAREGENAB." 

A  STRANGE  thing  happened  one  morning  at 
La  Rose  Blanche  —  the  big  plantation-bell 
did  not  ring !    Such  a  thing  had  never  been  known 
to  happen  on  a  week-day  morning ! 

Before  war-times  it  was  the  Overseer,  who  at 
sunrise  ordered  Grief,  or  Jerry  to  pull  the  dan- 
gling bell-rope;  and  sat  by  on  his  horse  with  tha 
dogs  yelping  around,  while,  at  the  summons,  the 
field-gang  turned  out  from  the  Quarter,  ready  for 
the  day's  work.  The  Overseer  had  long  ago 
shouldered  his  gun  and  marched  off  to  the  front. 
But  Uncle  Joshua  had  gone  on  ringing  the  bell 
every  morning  with  his  own  hands ;  and  then, 
when  all  the  Quarter  was  astir,  he  would  lead 
around  the  bay  mare,  Wanka  —  fleet,  beautiful, 
shining  Wanka  —  for  mother  to  mount,  and  after- 
103 


104        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

ward  he  would  pace  slowly  along  by  her  side  as 
she  marshalled  the  gang;  and  rode  about  the 
plantation,  inspecting  levees  and  ditches;  super- 
intending the  laying  of  the  mother-cane,  and  the 
"flushing"  of  the  lines,  and  the  hoeing  out  of 
weed  and  grass  and  tie-vine. 

Nor  once  had  the  clanging  tones  of  the  bell 
failed  to  break  on  the  morning ,  air  while  the 
stranger  tents  and  the  alien  flag  shone  over  against 
the  sky  by  the  sugar-house,  though  through  all 
those  idle  months  the  hands  responded  to  its  call 
only  by  coming  to  their  cabin-doors  and  peering 
out,  until  the  clangor  ceased,  and  then,  suddenly 
disappearing  from  sight  again.  Its  familiar  sound 
added  to  the  general  note  of  activity  when  the 
camp  was  removed  and  mother  and  Uncle  Joshua 
resumed  their  rounds ;  watching  the  long  battal- 
ion of  cutters,  and  following  in  the  wake  of  cane- 
piled  wagons,  that  creaked  their  way  toward  the 
factory  with  its  immense  smoking  chimneys. 

(Only  now,  pretty  Wanka  was  gone,  and  a 
gaunt  solemn  "  sugar-mule  "  bore  the  light  form 
of  the  Madame  soberly  about.) 


"HAREGENAB.  105 

Even  on  the  day  after  an  outer  wave  of  battle 
had  rolled  over  the  place,  leaving  'its  heart-break- 
ing flotsam  behind,  the  sunrise  bell  sounded  — 
with  not  a  soul  to  obey  its  voice  —  and  old  Aunt 
Rose's  brown,  woolly  flock  clapped  little  gleeful 
hands  as  the  well-known  echoes  floated  in  to  them 
at  play  around  the  great-house  sitting-room  fire. 

"  Dat  ar  bell,"  Uncle  Joshua  was  wont  to  ob- 
serve, "  am  ez  sho'  ez  de  sun-up,  'cep'n  on  Sun- 
days ;  an'  I  gwine  ter  take  ter  ringin'  hit  on  Sundays 
jes  fer  ter  shake  up  dem  lazy  niggers.  Ki !  yi ! 
yi!" 

But  here  was  sun-up  and  long  past,  of  a  week- 
day morning  and  no  bell.  And  what  was  more 
curious  still  —  no  Uncle  Joshua  / 

"  Mis'  Lucy,"  said  Mammy — and  her  dark  face 
had  a  strange  ashen  hue,  and  her  great,  fawn-like 
eyes  were  swollen  and  downcast  —  "I  dunno, 
honey,  what  is  come  o'  Joshua.  He  is  done 
promis'  Marse  John  dat  he  ain't  never  gwine  ter 
'sert  you  an'  de  chillun  long's  his  hade  am  'bove 
de  groun'.  But  'pear  lak  he  is  done  break  his 
word.  Caze  he  is  lef ;  an'  wusser'n  dat,  he  is 


I06        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

steal  away  lak  er  thieft  in  de  middle  o'  de  night. 
An'  de  ole  dog  Jupe  a-howellin'  down  by  de  cabin 
do',  lak  ez  ef  he  know'd  we  is  all  disgrace'."  Her 
breast  heaved  and  a  dry  sob  swelled  her  throat. 

"  Spec  Daddy  done  'sert  Mis'  Lucy  an'  de  chil- 
lun  an'  jinded  de  Yankees  up  yander  pas'  de  ben' 
o'  de  river,  lak  some  o'  de  res'  o'  dem  sassy  nig- 
gers," remarked  Mandy. 

Mother  laid  a  soft,  white  reassuring  hand  upon 
Mammy's  fat  shoulder. 

"  I  have  no  idea  where  Uncle  Joshua  has  gone, 
Mammy,"  she  said;  "but  wherever  he  is,  he  is 
faithful  to  his  trust,  I  know." 

"  De  Lord  bless  yer,  honey !  I  knowed  dat  you 
wa'nt  gwine  ter  'pute  no  harm  ter  Joshua,"  Mammy 
cried,  the  tears  gushing  all  at  once  from  her  eyes. 
"Yer  good-fer-nothin'/nm/,?,"  she  went  on,  whirl- 
ing wrathfully  around  upon  Mandy,  "ain't  yer 
shame'  o'  yo'se'f  ter  been  a-black-bikin'  o'  yo'  own 
Daddy  ter  Mis'  Lucy  an'  de  chillun !  " 

Mandy  dodged  the  threatened  blow  and  ran 
down  the  steps  to  hold  the  bridle  of  the  mule  while 
mother  climbed  upon  his  back. 


"  HAREGENAB."  107 

"Miss  Ma'y,"  she  said  solemnly,  as  mother  rode 
off  to  the  farther  field  with  Mammy  walking  by 
her  side,  "  'f  Daddy  ain't  jinded  de  Yankees,  den 
I  knows  what  is  come  o'  him  —  Hctygnab  done 
cotch  him!" 

How  we  all  missed  him,  to  be  sure  !  And  how 
"  obstropolous,"  as  Mammy  declared,  everything 
on  the  place  —  from  the  mules  in  the  stables  to 
the  hoe-gang  in  the  cane-rows  —  seemed  to  be- 
come "  de  minit  Joshua's  back  am  fair'  tu'n'd,  an' 
Mis'  Lucy's  right  han'  am  tucken  away." 

Some  days  later  there  was  another  happening. 
Father  Kenyon  suddenly  appeared  —  coming  slowly 
up  the  magnolia  avenue  from  the  front-gate,  with 
his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back  and  his  merry 
brown  eyes  blinking  at  the  sun — just  as  he  used 
always  to  come  after  early  mass  at  our  little  church, 
to  smoke  a  pipe  and  play  a  game  of  chess  with 
father.  His  long  black  frock  was  rusty  and  thread- 
bare, and  dull  stains  that  might  once  have  been 
warm  and  bright  and  red,  flecked  it  here  and 
there,  and  discolored  the  cuffs  of  the  sleeves. 
For  he  had  been  following  the  army  about  for  two 


108        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

years,  away  over  yonder,  where  the  noise  of  bat- 
tle was  loudest,  and  where  the  warm,  bright,  red 
blood  gushed  most  freely,  as  he  passed  from  field 
to  field,  ministering  alike  to  friend  and  foe. 

But  his  smooth  round  face  was  the  same  —  jolly 
and  beaming!  as  we  ran  pell-mell  to  meet  him, 
with  joyful  cries.  And  it  beamed  more  brightly 
still  when  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  bosom  and 
drew  out  a  package  of  letters. 

The  great  river,  guarded  by  sharp-shooters  on 
the  banks,  and  by  mysterious-looking  gun-boats 
that  surged  up  and  down  on  its  yellow  breast,  and 
sometimes  belched  forth  fire  and  thunder  at  foes 
whom  we  could  not  divine,  now  cut  the  Confeder- 
acy in  twain,  and  it  had  been  months  since  a  letter 
had  found  its  way  across  from  that  far-away  "  front " 
where  our  hearts  were. 

These  were  from  the  boys,  written  upon  scraps 
of  coarse  brown  paper,  and  telling  briefly  —  brave 
young  souls  —  of  weary  marches,  and  fierce  en- 
gagements, and  scanty  rations  ;  and  dwelling  gayly 
on  the  little  homely  incidents  of  camp-life. 

"  Wes  and  Dandy  had  the.  measles,"  concluded 


"  HAREGENAB.  109 

i 

brother  Tom's  letter,  "but  they  are  out  of  hospi- 
tal now,  and  Hart's  arm  is  nearly  well.  And  Vir- 
gil has  just  come  into  camp  with  a  fine  fat  pig  and 
some  collards  {I  don't  know  where  he  could  have  got 
them).  But  our  mess  is  going  to  give  a  party  to- 
night, you  bet ! " 

In  brother  Hart's  letter  there  was  a  line  for 
me.  Dear !  dear !  I  came  upon  it  just  the  other 
day,  a  torn  and  crumpled  scrap,  wrapped  around 
an  old  war-time  "huswife."  My  heart  swelled, 
and  more  than  twenty  years  seemed  to  melt  away 
as  I  unfolded  it.  And  a  vision  of  the  curly-haired 
boy  who  wrote  it,  and  of  another  curly-haired  lad 
who  longed  for  one  more  chance  to  "be  good  to 
little  Ally"  rose  before  me  as  I  traced  the  lines 
through  tears. 

"Dere  little  Sis,"  it  said  (he  never  could  spell 
my  brother  Hart ! ),  "I  used  to  teeze  you  and  make 
you  cry  when  I  was  at  home.  I  am  now  verry 
sorry.  When  I  come  home  (if  I  ever  doo)  I  will 
never  teeze  you  again." 

Father's  regiment  had  been  transferred  to 
another  command,  and  so  there  was  no  letter  from 


110        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE   BLANCHE. 

him,  but  news  of  him  had  reached  the  camp  just 
before  Father  Kenyon  left.  He  was  well  and  in 
good  spirits.  He  had  been  promoted.  And  he 
was  as  sure  as  ever  that  The  Cause  would  triumph 
in  the  end. 

"Now,  aunt  Lucy,"  said  cousin  Nellie  when 
Father  Kenyon  had  had  his  breakfast  and  finished 
the  story  of  his  long,  roundabout  journey  North 
and  West  and  finally  South,  with  the  contraband 
letters  concealed  in  his  bosom,  "now,  aunt  Lucy, 
Father  Kenyon  has  come  home,  and  we  have  let- 
ters from  all  the  boys,  and  good  news  from  uncle 
John,  and  it  is  your  wedding-day  beside.  I  am 
going  to  put  La  Rose  Blanche  en  ff>te  once  more 
just  to  show  how  glad  I  am  ! " 

Mother  shook  her  head  doubtfully,  but  she 
smiled  at  the  same  time,  and  her  eyes  gave 
assent. 

"  Suppose  the  blue-coats  do  come  around,"  con- 
tinued cousin  Nell,  drawing  on  her  gloves  and 
picking  up  the  garden-shears.  "They  can't  do 
much,  I  reckon,  with  a  parcel  of  women  and  old 
men  and  children.  Besides  I  rather  like  'em,  and 


"  HAREGENAB."  Ill 

anyway  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  of  'em ; "  and  she  ran 
gayly  down  the  steps. 

We  were  presently  hanging  rose-wreaths  on  the 
old-fashioned  crystal-drop  chandeliers,  and  twining 
rose-garlands  over  the  pictures;  and  cramming 
roses  into  bowls  and  jars  and  vases.  M'lindy 
brought  in  the  mops  and  brushes  to  give  an  extra 
polish  to  the  waxed  floors ;  and  'Riah  and  Sophy 
set  to  work  in  the  dining-room,  rubbing  the  silver, 
brought  out  from  its  hiding-place,  known  only  to 
mother,  now  that  Uncle  Joshua  was  gone. 

Mother  herself  took  down  and  wiped  the  com- 
pany-china. Mammy,  with  the  little  boys  tagging 
at  her  heels,  bustled  about  the  kitchen  whence  the 
smell  of  molasses-pie  and  Beauregard  cup-cake, 
and  gun-boat  custard,  and  other  war-time  dainties, 
soon  came  floating  over  to  the  great-house.  "  My 
Ian',  but  don't  dat  mek  a-body  hongry  !  "  exclaimed 
Mandy. 

Jerry  and  Grief  and  Jake  rode  off  in  different 
directions  with  little  notes  and  messages,  and  just 
before  night  Grandpa  Selden's  carriage  rolled  up 
the  drive  and  Uncle  Silas  descended  from  the 


112        IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE   BLANCHE. 

driver's  seat  to  throw  open  the  door  and  let  down 
the  steps.  Grandpa  himself  got  out,  fussy,  and 
scolding  in  his  high  cheery  voice,  his  wooden  leg 
grinding  on  the  shell-walk  and  his  snuff-box  and 
spectacles  tumbling  out  of  his  pocket  as  usual. 

A  little  later  uncle  James'  five  girls  came  in  a 
lumbering  plantation-cart  driven  by  Uncle  Jed, 
their  old  carriage  driver,  who  thought  the  dignity 
of  the  family  compromised  by  such  a  turnout,  and 
bore  himself  very  stiffly  while  he  helped  his  young 
ladies  to  the  ground. 

And  Madame  Brion,  who  had  come  back  to  Bon 
Soldat,  walked  over  with  Odille  and  Angelique,  all 
three  looking  strangely  pale  and  sad  in  their  rusty 
mourning. 

And  by  the  time  grandpa's  old  chum  and  com- 
rade, Major  Brentling,  had  arrived  with  Madame 
Michel  and  Mademoiselle  Celeste,  her  grand-daugh- 
ter, Uncle  Silas,  in  Uncle  Joshua's  blue  cut-away 
coat  with  brass  buttons,  was  gliding  noiselessly 
about  lighting  the  candles.  Their  mellow  radiance 
streamed  through  the  long  open  windows  into  the 
soft  starlight  outside.  The  waxed  floors  gleamed 


"HAREGENAB."  115 

like  polished  mirrors.  The  tall  blue  Chinese  spice- 
jars  on  each  side  of  the  wide  fireplace  were  uncov- 
ered, and  a  musky  fragrance  of  dried  rose-leaves 
and  oriental  drugs  floated  from  them  and  mingled 
with  the  perfume  of  freshly-gathered  roses  and 
star-like  cape-jessamines.  A  faint  breeze  came 
whispering  through  the  curtains  to  stir  the  little 
yellow  flames  of  the  candles. 

Mother,  clad  in  the  white  gown  she  always  wore 
on  her  wedding  anniversary,  moved  softly  about, 
welcoming  her  guests,  and  then  went  over  in  the 
corner  by  Madame  Brion  and  the  two  mothers  of 
soldier  boys  sat  there  clasping  hands  and  speaking 
in  low  tones  ;  and  looking  at  each  other  with  sad, 
tender  eyes. 

Grandpa  in  his  own  big  arm-chair  by  a  window 
was  telling  Father  Kenyon  for  the  hundredth  time 
about  Monterey  and  the  queer  sensation  he  had  on 
the  battle-field  when  he  tried  to  rise  and  walk  after 
the  shell  that  stunned  him  had  whizzed  by.  "  My 
leg  was  gone,  sir,  clean  gone  if  you'll  believe  me, 
and  I  didn't  even  know  it !  And  Max  here,  not  a 
dozen  paces  away  with  his  arm  smashed  to  smith- 


Il6         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

ereens !  Eh,  those  were  fine  days,  Max,  old  fel- 
low!" and  he1  gave  Major  Brentling  a  hearty  slap 
on  the  shoulder. 

Charley  and  Sam  leaned  against  his  knee  and 
listened  with  shining  eyes  and  flushed  faces.  But 
Will  and  little  Percy  were  rolling  about  on  the 
lawn  in  the  patches  of  light  that  streamed  from 
the  windows  over  the  flower-dotted  grass. 

Odille  and  Angelique  and  I  sat  on  the  steps  of 
the  veranda  listening  spell-bound  to  Mandy's  story 
of  "Hardgenab  and  Shadder."  It  was  not  the 
first  time  we  had  heard  it.  In  fact  we  knew  every 
word  of  it  by  heart,  but  we  were  always  de- 
lighted to  quake  and  thrill  anew  over  its  vague 
horrors. 

"Well,  chillun,"  Mandy  went  on,  "Ha'yg'nab 
live  in  er  house  down  by  de  aidge  o'  de  swamp ; 
er  house  whar  got  er  i'on  do',  an'  er  key  big  ez  er 
gate-pos'.  He  air  er  gi-yunt  like  dem  whar  Marse 
Tom  use  ter  read  'bout,  an'  he  ar  ez  high  ez  er 
sugar-house  chimbly.  His  jaws  is  white  ez  er  pil- 
ler-case  an'  his  eyes  is  red  ez  fire.  His  arms  is 
long's  Aunt  Judy's  cloze-pole ;  an'  he  got  er  mouf 


"HAREGENAB."  117 

sump'n  lak  er  wash-'pot.  Shadder  ar  his  bruddei 
an'  jis  'pintedly  lak  him  'cep'n  Shadder  black. 

"  Ha'yg'nab  got  er  way  er  gittin'  up  frum  de  bed 
made  out'n  red-hot  coals,  an'  stretchin'  hissef  an' 
say'n,  low-lak  an'  sof,  'Shadder,  Ise  gittin'  er  lit- 
tle hongry.  Hit's  time  somebody  wuz  brung  in.' 
Den  dey  start  out  bofe  tergedder.  Ha'yg'nab  step- 
pin'  slow-lak  an'  powerful  easy,  an'  Shadder  steppin' 
slow-lak  an'  powerful  easy  clos't  terhine  him.  Dey 
creep  —  an'  creep  —  an'  c-r-e-e-p  "  — 

"  O  Mandy  !  " 

"  —  Creep  —  an'  creep  an'  c-r-e-e-p  untwell  dey  see 
somebody.  Mayby  hit's  grown-folks  lak  Daddy, 
but  mos'  all  de  time  hit's  chillun,  caze  Ha'yg'nab 
love  dey  bones  de  bes';  but  when  he  gets  right 
hongry,  he  don't  keer  much.  Den  dey  stop  an' 
Ha'yg'nab  reach  out  his  long  arm  an'  grab  de 
chile"  — 

Here  Mandy  seized  Odille  by  the  shoulders  and 
we  all  huddled  together  in  a  spasm  of  terror  and 
delight. 

—  "  Grab  de  chile  (caze  hit's  mos'  in  gin'ral  a 
chile)  an'  jerk  him  onto  his  shoulder  an'  creep  off. 


Il8         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

Den  Shadder  stretch  out  his  long  arm  an'  grab 
'nother  chile,  an'  den  "  — 

Mandy  stopped  abruptly.  She  sat  on  the  step 
above  us,  her  face  turned  toward  the  lawn.  We 
could  see  her  eyes  slowly  dilate  in  the  dim  light. 
We  turned  wonderingly  to  follow  her  fascinated 
gaze. 

A  tall  figure,  gigantic  in  the  uncertain  starshine, 
had  come  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  magnolia- 
trees,  and  was  advancing  across  the  lawn  toward 
the  little  boys,  who  were  bobbing  and  tumbling 
gleefully  about.  When  it  reached  them  it  paused, 
stooped,  and  put  out  a  long  arm.  A  white  hand 
gleamed  for  a  second  in  the  yellow  patch  of  light ; 
and  the  next  moment  little  Percy  was  swung  up- 
ward, his  shrieks  stifled  against  a  white  dimly-seen 
face.  At  the  same  moment  a  second  figure  darted 
forward  ;  long  black  arms  reached  out  and  closed 
upon  Will ;  we  heard  confused  cries  and  hurried 
footsteps  that  crunched  upon  the  shelled  walk  as 
we  ourselves  burst  into  wild  screams  and  fled 
into  the  house,  stumbling  blindly  over  each 
other. 


"HAREGENAB.  119 

"  What  is  it  ? "  exclaimed  mother  running  across 
the  room  to  meet  us. 

"  O  mother,  mother,  Hare'ge'nab  and  Shadder ! 
Hare'ge'nab  and  Shadder ! "  I  sobbed,  hiding  my 
face  in  her  skirts. 

"  What  do  you  mean ! "  said  grandpa,  seizing 
me  by  the  arms  and  shaking  me  vigorously. 

"  Oh,  they've  got  the  little  boys  !  They've  got 
the  little  bo  —  "  There  was  a  sudden  confusion 
at  the  door.  Mother  looked  up.  A  great  wave 
of  joy  swept  over  her  face  and  lighted  her  eyes. 
And  the  next  moment  she  was  clasped  with  little 
Percy  in  father's  arms. 

"  I  done  brung  him  ter  yer,  Mis'  Lucy,  honey," 
said  Uncle  Joshua,  swinging  Will  down  from  his 
shoulder,  and  taking  off  his  battered  old  hat.  "  I 
is  done  got  word  dat  Marse  John  uz  on  de  yuther 
side  o'  de  ribber,  whar  he  is  come  ter  fotch  some 
'spatches  ter  de  Gin'l.  Dat  huccome  I  done  steal 
off  in  de  middle  o'  de  night  'dout  tellin'  de  old 
woman.  I  skeered  lessen  she  mout  tell"  (Mam- 
my gave  a  kind  of  a  grunt  that  did  not  at  all  disturb 
the  grin  of  delight  overspreading  her  broad  face.) 


120         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

"I  pull  over  in  er  dug-out.  An'  I  uz  powerful 
skeered  lessen  some  o'  dem  fool  sharp-shooterers 
uz  gwine  ter  kill  me,  an'  den  Mis'  Lucy  wa'nt 
never  gwine  ter  know  huccome  I  ter  sneak  off  in 
de  middle  o'  de  night,  caze  you  knows,  Mis'  Lucy, 
dat  I  is  done  promis'  Marse  John  dat  I  ain't  never 
gwine  ter  'sert  you  an'  de  chillun  —  an'  I  ain't. 
Den  I  foun'  Marse  John.  My !  but  I  uz  glad  ter 
see  Marse  John  once  mo'.  An'  he  'low  as  how  he 
ca'ynt  spar  much  time  but  he  'boun  ter  spen'  de 
weddin'-day  long  o'  Mis'  Lucy  an'  de  chillun.  An' 
he  tuck'n  tuck  off  de  gray  nuniform  wid  de  brass 
buttons  an'  de  gole  stars  on  de  collar,  an'  put  on 
dem  homespun  cloze  whar  he's  got  on  now;  an' 
den  Marse  John  an'  me,  we  lay  roun'  dar  mos'  four 
days  waitin'  fer  er  chance  ter  cross  de  ribber.  Dat 
huccome  we  ain't  got  home  no  sooner." 

By  this  time  everybody  had  shaken  hands  with 
Uncle  Joshua  and  he  backed  into  a  corner,  his  old 
face  shining  with  satisfaction. 

As  for  father  he  looked  bigger  and  browner  than 
ever  standing  with  his  arm  about  mother,  trying  to 
answer  a  dozen  questions  at  once. 


"HAREGENAB.  121 

Pretty  soon  the  news  somehow  got  down  to  the 
Quarter,  and  the  hall  began  to  swarm  with  the 
familiar,  eager,  dusky  faces  —  for  only  a  few  had 
failed  to  come  back  after  the  last  scattering. 
Father  shook  hands  all  around  and  made  them  a 
hearty  speech  which  set  their  dark  eyes  to  rolling 
and  dancing  and  their  white  teeth  a-gleaming. 

Then  the  younger  ones  returned  to  the  Quarter 
and  a  few  of  the  older  ones  were  posted  about  the 
place  to  keep  watch.  For  sometimes,  though  not 
often,  a  squad  of  blue-coats  would  appear  sudden- 
ly, and  finding  everything  tranquil,  as  suddenly 
disappear. 

It  was  after  twelve  o'clock  when  we  came  out  of 
the  dining-room,  and  Major  Brentling  and  Father 
Kenyon  went  away.  The  others  all  slept  at  La 
Rose  Blanche.  I  tried  hard  to  keep  awake  while 
the  good-nights  and  good-bys  were  being  said. 
Grandpa  was  the  last  to  go,  and  he  loomed  up 
large  as  Mandy's  "  gi-yunt "  before  my  sleepy  eyes 
as  he  kissed  father  on  both  cheeks  and  stumped  off 
up-stairs.  And  then  I  dimly  saw  for  a  moment 
the  shadowy  room  and  the  two  figures  arm-in-arm 


122         IN    WAR  TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

walking  up  and  down  and  talking  in  low  tones, 
my  mother's  white  garments  fluttering  in  the  chill 
night  breeze  that  poured  in  at  the  window.  And 
then,  all  at  once  they  too  faded  away. 

When  I  awoke  a  gray  misty  light  was  creeping 
into  the  bedroom.  Mother  was  standing  by  an 
open  window,  still  dressed  in  her  white  gown,  with 
a  bunch  of  drooping  roses  at  her  belt,  and  a  with- 
ered jessamine  in  her  down-falling  hair.  Her 
hands  were  clasped  and  she  was  gazing  out  toward 
the  river  which  was  full  now  and  gleamed  level 
with  the  top  of  the  sodded  levee. 

"  Was  father  here  ?   Where  is  father  ? "  I  asked. 

She  turned  a  strained  anxious  face  upon  me,  as 
if  she  only  half  understood  and  then  looked  out 
again  toward  the  river. 

I  knew  without  further  questioning  that  father 
had  gone  back  to  "  the  front." 

That  was  Sunday.  Monday  morning  the  joyous 
clamor  of  the  bell  roused  the  Quarter  once  more, 
and  Uncle  Joshua  presently  came  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house  leading  the  sugar-mule. 

"  I  done  fetch  Marse  John  ter  de  yuther  side  all 


"HAREGENAB."  123 

right,  Mis'  Lucy,"  he  said  as  he  lifted  her  into  the 
saddle  and  moved  off  by  her  side.  "  An'  de  las' 
word  he  ax  me  war  ter  be  sho'  an'  not  'sert  you  an' 
de  chillun  an'  I  ain't  gwine  ter  'sert  you  an'  de 
chillun  long's  my  hade  am  'bove  de  groun'." 

"  I  don't  keer  what  dey  say,"  said  Mandy,  look- 
ing after  them,  from  the  top  step,  "  Miss  Ma'y,  if 
daddy  don't  quit  foolin'  roun'  dem  gum-boats  an' 
dem  sharp-shoopers  Ha'yg'nab  gwine  ter  cotch 
him  sJuf.n 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A   NEW   DOG. 

EVERY  day  it  crept  nearer  to  the  top  of  the 
levee  —  the  big,  tawny  River.  Until,  one 
morning,  it  glinted  and  gleamed  under  the  June 
sky,  level  with  the  high  crest ;  and  when  a  light 
breeze  blew  across  its  foamy  surface,  little  waves 
came  washing  over  and  trickled  down  the  long 
grass-grown  slope  into  the  dusty  road  that  ran 
alongside. 

The  cane-crop  of  La  Rose  Blanche  was  "  laid 
by."  Over  the  quiet  fields  stretched  an  unbroken 
sweep  of  beryl-green,  where  sunshine  and  shadow 
chased  each  other,  and  whence,  at  intervals,  arose 
little  rythmic  murmurs,  as  if  the  Small  People 
were  at  play  in  the  cool  dim  underworld  beneath. 

In  the  cornfields  rank  upon  rank  of  bronze  tas- 
sels were  jauntily  tossing,  and  within  the  shelter 
124 


A    NEW    DOG.  125 

of  broad  rustling  blades  below,  nestled  the  tender 
milky  roasting-ears,  with  shreds  of  yellow  silk  es- 
caping from  their  soft  enfolding  sheaths. 

In  the  cotton-patch,  where  the  hoes  were  still 
busy,  the  rich,  brown  earth  showed  between  rows 
of  dark  velvety  green  ;  and,  of  mornings,  spots  of 
vivid  color  glowed  where  blue  and  crimson  morn- 
ing-glories trailed  their  tangled  vines. 

The  rose-hedges  were  white  with  long  waxen 
buds,  and  wide-open,  large-leaved  blossoms  with 
yellow  hearts  that  quivered  in  the  sun.  The  lawn 
was  sweet  with  the  musky  perfume  of  sensitive- 
plants,  whose  fluffy  balls  were  half-hidden  in  the 
rank  growth  of  unshaven  grass.  And  from  the 
rose-garden  every  afternoon  mother  brought  a 
great  shallow  basket  piled  high  with  rose-petals  to 
add  to  the  heap  already  drying  in  a  shady  corner 
of  the  veranda  for  the  spice-jars. 

The  Jack-beans  clambering  over  the  cabins 
down  at  the  Quarter,  swung  their  long  purple 
clusters  of  bloom  lazily  in  the  air ;  and  the  gourd- 
vines  flashed  their  yellow  trumpets. 

The  bananas,  whose  tattered  leaves  were  never 


126        IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

silent,  were  beginning  to  put  out  long  crooked 
arms  with  bunches  of  paly-pink,  down-drooping 
flowers  at  the  ends.  The  orange  trees  were  hung 
thick  with  tiny  green  globes. 

"  How  pretty  it  all  looks,  Uncle  Joshua !  "  said 
mother. 

"  Hit  sholy  do,"  responded  Uncle  Joshua,  letting 
his  gaze  wander  slowly  from  field  to  field  out  to 
the  dark  moss-hung  swamp,  and  back  again,  by 
hedge,  and  patch,  and  rose-garden.  "  Hit  am  een- 
ermos'  ez  clar-shinin'  ez  P'yardise !  But  den,  Mis' 
Lucy  honey,  dars  dat  bondacious  River!  She 
sholy  am  on  er  boom.  An'  she  kin  'stroy  all  we- 
all's  'sumption  'd'out  humpin'  herse'f  ef  she  tek 
hit  in  her  hade  ter  come  rampagin'  thoo  dat  weak 
place  in  de  levee  !  De  good  Lord  sen'  hit  don't 
rain,"  he  concluded  despondently  as  he  went  off  to 
have  more  earth  shoveled  against  the  weak  place 
in  the  levee. 

Grandma  Selden  (Mere  we  always  called  her) 
who  had  come  up  from  River-View  on  her  annual 
visit,  said  in  her  soft  pretty  French  —  for  Mere 
had  never  learned  to  speak  English,  and  was  deaf 


A   NEW    DOG.  127 

to  us  all,  even  to  Grandpa,  unless  we  addressed 
her  in  her  own  tongue  —  Mere  said  that  La  Rose 
Blanche  looked  just  as  it  did  when  she  was  a 
little  girl.  She  was  born  at  La  Rose  Blanche, 
and  grew  up  there  and  was  married  there  to 
Grandpa,  who  then  could  not  speak  a  word  of 
French,  but  who  managed  somehow,  being  young 
and  brave  and  handsome,  to  woo  and  win  her. 

Old  Justine,  who  stood  behind  her  Mistress' 
chair,  tossed  her  head  and  said  (her  patois  was  as 
musical  as  Mere's  French)  that  for  her  part  she 
thought  it  was  much  prettier  when  Madame  was  a 
girl,  and  Madame's  father  was  alive,  and  before 
ces  Americains  got  their  hands  on  it. 

By  this  she  meant  our  La  Rose  Blanche  negroes, 
who  came  into  the  family  with  Grandpa  and  with 
father. 

Mammy,  behind  mother's  chair,  tossed  her  head 
and  said  that  "we-all's  fambly  am  one  o'  de  bes' 
famblys  in  ole  Virginny,  an'  ain't  gwine  no  French 
nigger  had  de  insurance  to  run  hit  down  whar  I  is!" 

Then  everybody  laughed,  for  such  spats  were 
common  between  the  two,  and  Mammy  and  Justine 


128        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

went  amicably  off  together  to  make  gombo  zherbes* 
for  dinner. 

That  very  day  the  rain  begun  to  fall  —  not  hard 
at  first,  but  in  a  gentle  drizzle,  through  which  all 
green  things  looked  greener  still.  But  at  dark  the 
sky  became  heavy  with  ominous  clouds  crossed 
and  re-crossed  incessantly  by  white  blinding  streaks 
of  lightning;  and  sharp  thunder-claps  from  time 
to  time  burst  upon  the  sultry,  breathless  air. 

Lights  were  twinkling  down  by  the  River,  where 
guards  paced  to  and  fro,  keeping  watch  over 
the  levee  —  that  precious  rampart  which  alone 
stretched  between  utter  destruction  and  the  un- 
conscious teeming  fields  below.  In  front  of  Bon 
Soldat  a  huge  fire  was  blazing,  and  further  down 
we  could  see,  red  against  the  stormy  sky,  the  smoke 
of  another  that  we  knew  must  mark  the  upper 
boundary  of  River-View. 

Suddenly  the  wind  arose,  bringing  with  it  a 
strange  sound,  deep,  hoarse  continuous,  like  the 
prolonged  roar  of  a  wild  beast.  The  quick  rush 

*  "Gombo  Zherbes"  (gombo  aux  herbes),  gombo  with  the  ordinary 
foundation  and  with  beet-tops,  lettuce,  celery-tops,  mustard-greens,  etc., 
added  and  boiled  to  rags. 


A    NEW    DOG.  129 

of  down-falling  rain  drowned  it  for  a  breath,  but 
through  a  momentary  lull  it  broke  again,  hollow, 
menacing,  terrible. 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  River — the  growl  of  the 
wild  beast  preparing  to  spring  upon  its  prey ! 

The  lights  on  the  levee  hurried  wildly  about, 
and  presently  gathered  like  a  swarm  of  gigantic 
fire-flies  about  that  fatal  "weak  place,"  over  against 
the  orange-plantation,  and  where  the  bank  made 
a  little  curve  inward. 

Then  hasty  footsteps  went  splashing  by  under 
the  window.  A  cry  rung  sharply  out;  and  the 
fierce  clangor  of  the  plantation-bell  smote  into  the 
fury  of  the  storm. 

We  knew  what  that  meant !  The  weak  place 
had  given  way!  A  crevasse  had  broken  through 
the  levee ! 

The  bell  of  our  little  church  at  the  landing  re- 
plied almost  instantly  —  in  softer  and  mellower 
tones ;  and  soon,  like  a  far-away  echo,  came  the 
response  of  the  Bon  Soldat  bell. 

The  Quarter  sprung  into  life ;  torches  flared 
from  one  cabin  to  another ;  squads  of  men  tramped 


130        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

across  the  yard  laughing,  grumbling,  singing,  hal- 
looing. Then,  through  the  sweep  of  the  rain,  and 
above  the  roar  of  the  River,  we  heard  the  crack- 
ing of  whips  down  the  levee-road;  and  the  loud 
outcry  of  teamsters  urging  their  mules  to  a  run  ; 
and  the  creaking  of  wheels,  as  heavily-loaded 
wagons  came  lumbering  up  from  the  neighboring 
plantations.  A  little  later  and  a  dozen  voices  be- 
gan to  shout  out  hoarse  commands  to  an  ever- 
increasing,  yelling,  distracted  crowd. 

For  hours  with  our  faces  pressed  against  the 
window-panes,  we  children  watched  the  flames  of 
the  great  bonfires  flaring  and  leaping  in  the  wind, 
and  listened  to  the  sounds  that  came,  now  con- 
fused and  indistinct,  now  loud  and  clear,  through 
the  sudden  hushes  of  the  storm. 

"  Dat  River  ar  mighty  vir'grous,  sho's  you 
bawn,"  said  Mandy  at  last.  "An'  she  ain't  gwine 
ter  do  nothin'  but  laugh  terhine  de  backs  at  all 
dem  white-folks  and  niggers  makin'  lak  dey  kin 
keep  her  out'n  anywhurs  whar  she  tek  er  notion 
ter  git." 

Meanwhile  Mammy  had  made  her  way  to  the 


A    NEW    DOG.  131 

kitchen,  with  Aunt  Hester  the  cook  and  half-a- 
dozen  of  the  women,  and  there  they  were  baking 
corn-pone,  and  frying  bacon,  and  boiling  huge  pots 
of  parched-potato  and  parched-molasses  coffee. 
Mother  and  Mere  and  cousin  Nellie  were  in  the 
dining-room  packing  hampers.  And  all  night  long 
Grief  and  Jake  and  Jerry  were  kept  busy  carrying 
food  and  drink  out  to  the  exhausted  workers. 

The  next  morning  the  rain  had  ceased,  but  the 
sky  was  grey  and  lowering,  and  rough  gusts  of 
wind  still  blew  out  of  the  east. 

The  little  boys  stayed  with  Mere,  but  I  went 
with  mother;  Uncle  Joshua  led  the  sugar  mule 
around  and  lifted  her  into  the  saddle.  I  was 
perched  behind  her  with  my  arms  clasped  tightly 
around  her  waist. 

A  thick  yellow  stream  of  water  was  forcing  itself 
sullenly  along  the  lane  toward  the  swamp ;  as  we 
approached  the  River  it  grew  suddenly  deeper  and 
mounted  almost  to  the  axles  of  the  wagons  grouped 
in  a  corner  of  the  field.  The  mules  fastened  to 
the  troughs  behind,  stood  in  it  up  to  their  knees, 
placidly  munching  away  at  the  wisps  of  hay  that 


132         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

came  floating  by  from  the  stacks  waiting  their 
turn  to  be  packed  into  the  barricade. 

A  few  hundred  yards  to  the  left  the  army  of 
men  were  at  work,  wheeling  barrow-loads  of  earth 
from  the  back-fields  ;  filling  earth-bags  ;  splashing 
through  water  waist-deep  about  the  partly-closed 
crevasse,  driving  piles,  laying  timbers,  heaping  straw, 
brushwood,  earth  —  what-not!  against  the  grow- 
ing rampart. 

There  were  the  Bon  Soldat  negroes  and  those 
of  River-View  and  Ridgefield ;  and  many  familiar 
faces,  black  and  white,  from  round  about  the  Par- 
ish ;  and  working  away  with  a  will,  like  the  rest, 
were  a  dozen  or  more  of  Yankee  soldiers  from  the 
camp  above  the  bend. 

Grandpa  Selden  was  standing  on  the  slippery 
crest  of  the  levee  shouting  directions  to  the  men 
below;  and  Major  Brentling  with  his  one  arm  was 
helping  to  drag  a  heavy  beam  up  the  wet  slope. 

The  men  all  stopped  work  for  a  minute  as 
mother  came  riding  up,  and  burst  into  a  ringing 
cheer.  Their  voices  sounded  far-away  and  faint 
in  my  ears ;  everything  swam  before  my  eyes  and 


A   NEW   DOG.  135 

I  grew  sick  and  dizzy.  Uncle  Joshua  reached  up 
and  took  me  in  his  arms. 

"No  wonder  de  chile  am  skeered,"  he  said. 
"  Hit  am  er  tarryfyin'  sight  to  be  sho'." 

The  vast,  foaming,  tawny  sea  roared  by  far 
above  our  heads,  swirling  against  the  half-finished 
barrier,  and  here  and  there  breaking  through ;  it 
dashed  in  angry  waves  over  the  long  line  of  solid 
embankment  and  poured  down  the  sloping  sides 
to  mingle  with  the  muddy  flood  that  filled  the  road 
and  was  already  encroaching  upon  the  fields. 

The  unconscious  fields  were  laughing  back  at 
the  blue  sky,  beginning  to  smile  through  the  part- 
ing clouds ! 

Suddenly  a  warning-shout  rung  from  the  top  of 
the  levee.  An  enormous  tree-trunk  with  jagged 
ends  where  wide-spreading  limbs  had  been,  came 
plunging  against  the  barricade ;  it  struck  the  pil- 
ing with  a  dull  boom,  recoiled,  rose  almost  erect 
in  the  air,  balancing  itself  and  churning  the  water 
frantically  for  a  second,  and  plunged  forward 
again. 

A  cry  of  rage  and  despair  burst  from  four  or 


136         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE   BLANCHE. 

five  hundred  throats  as  the  piling  gave  way,  the 
earth-bags  melted,  and  the  torrent  came  leaping, 
seething,  hissing  through.  Some  of  the  men  were 
beaten  to  the  ground  by  the  force  of  the  sudden 
rush. 

"What  will  they  do  now?"  I  asked  when  Uncle 
Joshua  had  turned  back  toward  the  house  with  me. 

"  Dey'll  jes'  go  at  her  ag'in,  chile,  an'  she  ain't 
gwine  ter  let  'em  git  de  bes'  o'  her  long's  she  kin 
he'p  it.  She  am  got  er  powerful  heap  o'  ebo  in 
her  —  dat  River  am  ! " 

This  was  indeed  but  the  beginning.  Day  after 
day  the  fight  went  on  with  pretty  much  the  same 
result.  Sometimes  Grandpa  would  come  stump- 
ing in  and  announce  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction 
that  the  crevasse  was  closed  at  last.  The  wet  and 
wearied  men  would  go  home  to  their  well-earned 
rest,  leaving  the  patrol  alone  on  his  beat.  The 
scantily-stocked  store-room  of  La  Rose  Blanche 
would  be  shut ;  the  ordinary  routine  of  the  house- 
hold would  be  resumed  —  and,  a  few  hours  later, 
the  bell  would  clang  out  its  imperious  summons, 
and  the  conflict  would  begin  anew. 


A    NEW    DOG. 


J37 


In  the  meantime,  the  in-pouring  torrent  —  at 
first  taken  off  to  the  swamp  by  the  draining 
ditches — was  slowly  but  steadily  overflowing  their 
banks.  Inch  by  inch  it  crawled  through  the 
orange-plantation,  along  the  lane,  up  the  fields, 
into  the  grounds  —  until  by  the  time  the  crevasse 
was  really  closed,  it  spread  an  unbroken  lake,  over 
La  Rose  Blanche,  across  Bon  Soldat,  and  beat 
against  the  steps  of  the  River- View  great-house 
miles  away  down  the  river. 

Only  the  rear-cane-fields  somehow  escaped  and 
stood  high  and  dry  above  the  water,  and  here,  in 
a  snug  corner,  the  mules  and  cattle  were  housed. 

At  first  the  waves,  that  lapped  softly  against 
the  basement  windows  and  rippled  away  over  the 
lawn  and  sparkled  in  the  hot  sunlight,  were  thick 
and  muddy.  But  gradually  they  became  clear ; 
then  as  if  in  a  vast  mirror,  we  could  see  the  soft 
grass,  and  the  little  hedges  and  rose-bushes  and 
the  violet-beds,  emerald-green,  waving  back  and 
forth  with  a  gentle  undulatory  motion  far  below 
the  wind-stirred  surface.  The  partly-submerged 
rose-hedges  bloomed  defiantly,  their  glossy  leaves 


138        IN    WAR  TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

and  waxen  buds  reflected  in  the  clear  pool  below ; 
the  tall  cane  standing  deep  in  the  flood  rustled 
its  plumy  tufts  gayly. 

But,  after  awhile,  a  sickly  yellow  began  to  steal 
over  the  fields ;  the  hedges  strewed  the  waves  with 
white  unopened  buds ;  a  thick  scum  overspread 
the  water  and  a  damp,  clinging,  curious  odor  per- 
vaded the  air. 

We  seemed  to  be  living  in  a  strange,  new  world. 
Sometimes  a  fish  leaped  up  near  a  trellis  showing 
his  white  glistening  sides  as  he  fell  back  with  a 
splash.  Then  the  little  boys  would  rush  headlong 
into  the  house  for  their  poles  and  lines,  and  they 
would  hang  for  hours  over  the  banisters  waiting 
for  a  nibble.  Long,  slimy,  greenish  snakes  would 
coil  themselves  on  the  steps  to  bask  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  hardly  take  the  trouble  to  slide  off 
when  anybody  came  down  to  the  boats  moored 
against  the  pillars  with  their  paddles  laid  across. 
Once,  a  monstrous  alligator  glided  across  the  lawn, 
swimming,  his  rusty  nose  in  the  air,  and  dived 
under  the  rose-garden  gate.  Ten  minutes  later  a 
baby  one,  three  or  four  feet  long,  came  crawling 


A   NEW   DOG.  139 

up  the  steps,  making  a  funny  little  puffing  noise 
as  he  came,  and  when  he  reached  the  veranda 
he  stretched  himself  out  with  a  grunt  and  lay 
there  lazily  opening  and  shutting  his  small 
eyes. 

Boats  were  darting  about  all  day  long  from  one 
part  of  the  plantation  to  another.  Uncle  Joshua 
every  morning  piloted  out  a  fleet  of  little  pirogues 
to  some  point  where  work  could  yet  be  done. 
Hester  and  Mammy  went  and  came  from  the 
Quarter,  paddling  themselves  awkwardly,  while 
Jake  and  Grief  in  their  light  dug-outs  danced  jeer- 
ing and  chaffing  around  them.  Often  a  yell  of 
derisive  laughter  would  bring  us  to  the  back  gal- 
lery, and  there  would  come  the  two  dear  old  souls, 
dripping,  muddy,  and  scolding ;  dragging  their 
overturned  boat  after  them,  and  threatening  with 
uplifted  oars  the  saucy  youngsters. 

Every  day  mother,  in  the  "  ladies-boat,"  pulled 
by  Jerry,  went  to  our  little  church  at  the  landing, 
taking  one  or  more  of  us  children  with  her;  some- 
times she  made  a  visit  to  Madame  Brion  at  Bon 
Soldat ;  or  even  ventured  as  far  as  River-View  to 


140        IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

fetch  back  something  for  Mere,  who  never  trusted 
herself  in  a  boat. 

One  night,  the  fleet  of  pirogues  came  sweeping 
along  the  lane  between  the  high  rose-hedges ;  the 
men  were  singing,  keeping  time  to  the  splash  of 
their  paddles.  They  turned,  one  after  another, 
into  the  wide  gateway,  their  rich  mellow  voices 
floating  across  to  us  where  we  sat  in  the  starlight 
on  the  veranda : 

White  folks  say  de  nigger  won't  steal, 
But  I  cotch  six  in  my  corn-fiel'. 

Run,  nigger,  run,  patterroler  catch  you ; 
Run,  nigger,  run,  hit's  almos'  day. 

As  they  bore  away  toward  the  Quarter,  a  boat 
detached  itself  from  the  dark  mass  and  shot  noise- 
lessly over  the  lawn  to  the  house.  It  was  the 
"  ladies-boat "  which  had  been  to  carry  cousin 
Nellie  to  Bon  Soldat  for  the  night. 

As  Jerry  drew  up  alongside  the  steps  and  rested 
on  his  oars,  a  large  dog  rose  in  the  hinder  part  of 
the  boat  and  leaped  out.  He  stood  a  moment,  as 
if  hesitating,  on  the  lower  step,  and  then  bounded 
swiftly  up  and  disappeared  into  the  hall. 


A    NEW   DOG.  141 

"Re'kin  dat  Madame  Brion  Cagsar-dog,"  said 
Jerry,  when  he  had  steadied  the  wobbling  boat. 
"  I  didn'  know  he  dar.  I  dunno  huccome  he  ter 
sneak  home  long  o'  me  dat  er  way." 

The  next  morning  the  little  boys  came  down 
from  their  play-room  under  the  roof  in  a  high 
state  of  excitement. 

"  We've  got  a  new  dog,"  said  Sam,  "  an'  'tain't 
Madame  Brion's  Caesar-dog  neither." 

"  Such  a  nice  dog,"  added  Will. 

"  'Cause  he  yets  us  p'ay  wiz  him,"  explained 
little  Percy.  And  they  hurried  away  with  a  plate- 
ful of  bread  for  their  new  playmate. 

The  new  dog  was  really  a  comfort,  mother  said. 
Her  mind  had  not  been  so  easy  about  the  boys 
since  the  flood  came  with  its  snakes  and  alligators, 
and  perhaps  other  and  undreamed-of  dangers. 
They  were  at  least  safe,  up  in  the  garret  with  a 
good-natured  dog. 

They  trotted  off  every  morning  as  soon  as  they 
had  finished  their  breakfast,  with  an  ample  supply 
for  Mont'rey  —  his  name  was  "  Mont'rey,"  they 
said,  "  after  Grandpa's  leg  "  —  and  shouts  of  glee- 


142         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

ful  laughter  and  joyous  cries  would  presently  come 
ringing  down  the  stairs. 

One  day  they  took  old  Jupe  up  to  the  play-room 
to  introduce  him  to  the  new  dog.  But  Jupe  evi- 
dently did  not  find  the  new  dog  to  his  liking,  for 
we  heard  him  utter  a  wild  yell,  and  directly  he 
came  tearing  down  the  stairs,  with  his  tail  between 
his  legs  and  the  skin  fairly  quivering  on  his  lean 
body.  He  plunged  into  the  water  and  made  for 
Mammy's  cabin ;  and  no  threats  or  coaxing  could 
thereafter  induce  him  to  enter  the  great-house. 

One  afternoon  when  the  glee  overhead  was 
louder  even  than  usual,  Mere,  who  had  a  head- 
ache, said  to  mother :  "  Lucille,  I  wish  you  would 
go  up  and  tell  the  little  boys,  and  the  new  dog,  to 
be  just  a  little  more  quiet." 

When  mother  reached  the  head  of  the  second 
stairway,  she  opened  the  door  of  the  play-room 
and  looked  in. 

They  were  playing  "soldier."  Little  Percy 
marched  at  the  head  of  the  line,  beating  lustily 
upon  an  old  tin  bucket ;  Will  followed,  with  his 
lath  sword  held  stiffly  against  his  breast ;  Charley 


A   NEW   DOG.  143 

and  Sam  trod  hard  upon  his  heels,  their  stick- 
guns  on  their  shoulders  and  their  canteens  swing- 
ing at  their  sides.  And  the  new  dog,  with  Percy's 
straw  hat  stuck  on  the  back  of  his  head,  brought 
up  the  rear,  walking  on  his  hind  legs. 

Mother  turned  pale  at  sight  of  him,  and  almost 
swooned.  The  new  dog  was  a  big  shaggy,  half- 
grown  black  bear ! 

He  had  been  driven  in  by  the  overflow  and 
tamed  by  the  innocent  confidence  of  his  little 
hosts ! 

He  dropped  on  all-fours  and  growled  when 
mother  came  in,  but  seeing  that  his  comrades 
marched  away  undisturbed,  he  cocked  his  head  a 
little  on  one  side  and  stood  up  again ;  and  there 
they  went,  around  and  around,  the  tin  drum  rat- 
tling, the  small  Captain  gravely  marking  time,  the 
"  comp'ny  "  keeping  step. 

"Boom!"  said  an  imaginary  cannon.  Charley 
and  Sam  fell  down  groaning.  The  bear  stood 
still  and  looked  at  them.  But  Captain  Will  gave 
him  a  smart  slap  with  his  lath  sword,  and  down 
he  tumbled  in  a  heap  with  the  others. 


144        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

"  Isn't  he  a  good  doggie,  mother  ? "  asked  Char- 
ley when  they  had  all  scrambled  to  their  feet. 

Mother  said  yes,  though  her  knees  trembled. 

"We've  put  another  name  to  him,"  Sam  said. 
"We  call  him  'Mont'rey'  after  Grandpa's  leg, 
and  '  Bull  Run  '  after  Captain  Brion's  battle." 

After  that  Mont'rey-Bull-Run  was  brought  down- 
stairs and  became  one  of  the  family.  His  antics 
kept  the  whole  house  in  an  uproar ;  even  Mere,  who 
was  afraid  of  him,  could  not  help  laughing  at 
him. 

The  water  by  this  time  was  beginning  to  drain 
slowly  away  from  the  plantation ;  the  tops  of  the 
little  hedges  showed  first,  and  then  the  leaves  of 
the  violet-beds  and  finally  the  yellowed  grass. 

One  morning  when  Mammy  opened  the  dining- 
room  door  she  uttered  a  cry  of  dismay.  The  floor 
was  strewn  with  broken  dishes,  chairs  and  tables 
were  overturned,  the  doors  of  the  side-board  were 
swung  open,  the  lower  panes  of  the  long  windows 
were  smashed.  In  the  midst  of  this  chaos  sat 
Mont'rey-Bull-Run  digging  his  paws  into  a  broken 
honey-jar  clasped  in  his  arm,  and  licking  them 


IN    THE   MIDST    OF    THE   CHAOS,   SAT    MONT'REY-BULL-RUN. 


A    NEW    DOG.  147 

with  little  snorts  of  delight.  Mammy  pounced 
upon  him  with  her  broom. 

"  He  look  at  me  er  minit,  mournful-lak,"  she 
said  afterward.  "  An'  den  he  sot  down  de  jar  an' 
tromp  straight  out  in  de  hall  ter  de  hat-rack,  an' 
tek  de  baby's  (Percy's)  li'l  straw  hat  in  he  mouf 
an'  march  off  powerful  'fended-lak  down  de  step 
—  an'  I  ain't  seed  him  no  mo',  caze  I  ha'  ter  mek 
dem  triflin'  no-'count  house-gals  wipe  up  the  flo' 
un'  tote  out  de  smash-up  chiny." 

We  never  saw  Mont'rey-Bull-Run  again. 

The  little  boys  were  inconsolable. 

"  He  we-ent  away,"  sobbed  Will,  "  'cause 
Mammy  sc-o-lded  him,  an'  hu-r-ted  his  feelin's. 
We  lo-ved  him  better'n  anything.  An'  when  we 
git  to  be  men,  we're  goin'  do-own  to  the  swamp 
an'  'vite  him  to  come  home  ag'in'.  He'll  come, 
won't  he,  mother  ?  " 

" Cosehe  will,"  cried  little  Percy,  smiling  through 
his  tears. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

POOR   WHITEY. 

POOR  Whitey  was  never  allowed  in  the  grown- 
folks'  parlors  on  grand  occasions,  when  the 
tall  silver  candlesticks  on  each  end  of  the  mantel, 
and  the  crystal-drop  chandeliers  suspended  from 
the  ceiling  were  ablaze  with  wax-candles ;  nor 
even  —  at  such  times  —  in  the  library  or  sitting- 
room.  On  ordinary  evenings,  however,  she  made 
her  appearance  with  great  regularity  "  at  early 
candle-lighting ; "  and  at  all  juvenile  feasts  she 
was  considered  indispensable,  being  supposed  to 
confer  great  dignity  and  circumstance  thereupon. 
Poor  Whitey  was  in  fact  —  or  rather  is,  for  she 
still  exists  —  an  overgrown  candlestick,  and  ac- 
cording to  family  tradition  once  belonged  to  Gen- 
eral Washington.  She  is  certainly  quaint  and 
old-timey  enough  to  have  flourished  at  Mount 
148 


POOR   WHITEY.  149 

Vernon  in  Lady  Washington's  day,  in  company 
with  certain  high-backed  chairs  and  claw-footed 
tables  still  to  be  seen  there. 

She  is  contrived  somewhat  after  this  fashion: 
An  upright  rod  about  three  feet  high  standing  on 
a  base,  or  pedestal,  and  terminating  in  a  large 
ring,  supports  near  its  top  a  circular  plate,  which 
may  be  raised  or  lowered  at  will  along  the  rod  by 
means  of  a  sliding  screw.  This  disc  contains 
sockets  for  six  candles  ranged  about  its  rimmed 
edge.  A  battered  extinguisher  swings  from  a 
chain  on  one  side,  and  a  huge  pair  of  snuffers 
hang  underneath.  The  pewter  of  which  base  and 
plate  are  made  has  been  rubbed  and  polished  by 
succeeding  generations  until  it  shines  like  silver ; 
and  when,  as  sometimes  used  to  happen,  six  can- 
dles of  Mammy's  best  home-made  were  alight  at 
once  in  the  sockets,  Poor  Whitey  presented  to  our 
childish  eyes  a  gorgeous  spectacle  indeed ! 

Mammy  grumbled  a  little  when  we  insisted  on 
having  six  whole  ones  for  our  "  sugar-candy  night ; " 
but  she  gave  them  to  us  nevertheless ;  and  I  helped 
Mandy,  myself,  stick  them  in  the  sockets,  and  went 


150        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

with  her  when  she  carried  Poor  Whitey  —  bright 
from  an  extra  polishing — over  to  the  Quarter. 

There,  everything  was  bustle  and  confusion.  It 
was  the  morning  of  the  annual  Plantation  Festival 
which  celebrates  the  wind-up  of  the  "  rolling." 
The  last  load  of  cane  had  been  hauled  from  the 
fields  to  the  sugar-house,  and  the  "  Rose  Blanche 
Procession  Day  "  had  come. 

"  Now,  chillun,"  said  Mammy,  when  we  had  de- 
posited Poor  Whitey  carefully  in  a  corner  of  her 
cabin,  "  jes'  you  clar  yo'se'fs  out.  Gaze  I  gwine 
ter  shet  de  cabin-do'  twel  night ;  an'  den,  ef  hit 
'pear  lak  fum  what  Mis'  Lucy  say,  dat  you  is 
'haveded  yo'se'fs  whilse  I  is  been  gone  'long  o'  de 
Percession,  I  is  gwine  ter  gin  you  de  fines'  sugar- 
candy  night  you  is  had  sence  de  young  Marsters, 
an'  Virg,  an'  Dandy,  is  march  off  ter  de  wah  ter 
de  chune  o'  De  gal  I  lef  behine  me" 

It  was  the  last  day  of  the  year,  clear,  shining, 
crisp.  A  chill  wind  had  shriveled  the  petals  of 
the  Christmas  roses  that  glowed  redly  on  their 
straggling  bushes  in  the  rose-garden ;  but  the 
fruity  smell  of  the  sweet-olive  was  everywhere,  and 


POOR    WHITEY.  151 

the  violet-beds  were  purple  with  bloom.  The 
river-breeze  parting  the  brown,  rustly  grass  on  the 
lawn  showed  an  undergrowth  of  delicate  tender 
green ;  a  daring  horn  appeared  here  and  there  at 
the  roots  of  the  tall,  dry  banana-stems;  the  orange- 
crop  had  been  gathered,  but  under  the  glossy 
leaves  a  few  forgotten  globes  of  gold  still  hung ; 
while  all  around  them  were  hints  of  swelling  flower- 
buds;  and  even  —  if  you  searched  carefully  — 
you  might  find  a  shining,  white-petaled,  odorous 
flower ! 

At  nine  o'clock  the  sugar-house  whistle  blew. 
At  the  shrill  sound  the  four  little  boys,  who  had 
been  up  and  dressed  since  daylight,  broke  away 
from  mother  and  tumbled  down  the  steps  —  the 
pink  streamers  on  their  hats  flying  in  the  wind. 
For  that  was  the  signal  for  the  starting  of  the  Pro- 
cession. It  came  along  the  lane  with  a  great 
beating  of  home-made  drums,  and  a  blowing  of 
big  conch-shells  that  almost  drowned  the  jubilant 
ringing  of  the  Plantation-bell.  As  it  turned  in  at 
the  carriage-gate  and  began  to  wind  around  the 
shelled  drive,  away  down  at  the  end  of  the  line, 


152        IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

in  the  very  last  cart,  Big  Mose  stood  up.  His  burly 
form  looked  gigantic  against  the  background  of 
the  clear  morning  sky.  We  heard  him  "  patting 
Juba  "  for  a  minute  and  then  his  powerful  voice 
burst  forth  sweet  and  sonorous : 

Git-a  long,  nigger,  de  jubilee  am  come! 

Two  hundred  throats  took  up  the  chorus  and  it 
swept  along  the  line,  preceded  by  a  peculiar,  long- 
drawn,  plaintive  shout  that  rose  and  fell  and  rose 
again,  ending  in  a  sharp  staccato  jerk : 

ffi-yt-'VIl  I     De  rollin',  de  rollin'  am  done ! 

Big  Mose:  Ef  dey's  gwine  ter  be  er  hoe-cake  de  nigger  want 

some, 
Cho:  Hi-yi-YH  \    De  rollin',  de  rollin'  am  done  ! 

Uncle  Joshua  led  the  Procession  mounted  on 
mother's  own  big  sugar-mule ;  then  came  all  the 
high-wheeled  carts  and  long-bodied  wagons  belong- 
ing to  La  Rose  Blanche  and  all  the  Rose  Blanche 
negroes  in  them,  dressed  in  their  Sunday-best. 

The  wheels  of  the  carts  and  wagons  were  wound 
with  Spanish  moss  and  garlands  of  glossy  green 
jessamine  from  the  swamp.  Tall  boughs  of  wild- 


POOR   WHITEV.  153 

peach  were  nailed  to  the  sides  and  nodded  over 
the  seats.  The  harness  of  the  mules  was  deco- 
rated with  tassels  of  red  and  yellow  yarn ;  and 
banners  and  streamers  of  bright-colored  homespun 
cloth  were  borne  aloft  by  the  riders. 

The  sugar-mule  stopped  of  his  own  accord  be- 
fore the  front  steps.  The  singing  ceased  abruptly 
and  Uncle  Joshua  took  off  his  hat  and  stood  up 
in  his  stirrups.  It  was  a  great  day  for  Uncle 
Joshua,  and  although  he  laughed,  showing  his 
white  teeth,  and  held  his  head  proudly,  the  tears 
poured  down  his  wrinkled  old  cheeks  while  he 
made  his  speech. 

He  waved  his  hand  toward  mother  standing  on 
the  top  step,  and  said  that "  Mdd1  de  Madame  dar 
am  er  invalique,  an'  am  never  had  de  win'  blow 
col',  er  de  sun  shine  hot  on  her  face  whilse  Marse 
John  wuz  hyar,  an'  dey  wa'nt  no  wah ;  yit  she 
have  tooken  de  place  on  top  o'  her  hade,  an'  de 
white  chillun  an'  de  black  pipple  in  her  lil'  hans, 
lak  er  pail  an'  two  buckets  o'  water ;  an'  she  is  done 
toted  'em  clean  ter  de  een  o'  de  crap-year  'd'out 
spillin'  nary  drap.  Derefore,  I  axes  fer  de  bigges' 


154        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

cheer  fer  de  Madame  dat  wuz  ev'n  been  heerd  on 
dis  Plantation !  " 

It  came  :  and  a  rousing  one  it  was ;  for  every 
man,  woman  and  child  from  the  Quarter — except 
old  Aunt  Rose  and  the  smallest  of  the  babies — • 
was  out  in  the  Procession.  Mother  ran  down  the 
steps  and  shook  hands  with  Uncle  Joshua  and 
said  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  him,  how  could 
she  have  got  along  ?  And  what  would  she  have 
done  anyway  if  her  people  had  not  stood  faithfully 
by  her  through  all  these  years  of  trouble  and 
heart-ache  ? 

Then  they  all  broke  out  again  in  loud  hurrahs 
for  Mis'  Lucy  —  and  for  Marse  John — an'  De 
Young  Marsters  —  "  'd'out  fergettin'  o'  Virg  an' 
Dandy  whar  is  off  yander  helpin'  ter  carry  on  de 
wah ! " 

The  little  boys  climbed  up  into  the  foremost 
cart  with  Mammy  and  Aunt  Hester.  M'lindy 
and  'Riah  and  Sophy  came  out  of  the  house  gig- 
gling and  tossing  their  heads  and  were  crowded 
into  the  next  wagon.  There  was  room  for  Mandy 
too,  but  she  waved  her  hand  disdainfully  and 


POOR    WHITEY.  155 

called  down  from  the  veranda :  "  Go  'long  wid 
yer,  niggers!  I  ain't  gwine  ter  be  cotch  in  no 
sech  er  comp'ny  ez  you  is !  I  is  gwine  ter  stay 
home  'long  o'  my  Miss  May." 

I  ran  to  her  gratefully  for  I  knew  she  was  dying 
to  go  ! 

And  as  soon  as  the  sugar-mule  could  be  got  to 
understand  that  mother  was  not  going  too,  the 
Procession  moved  off. 

Big  Mose  took  up  his  song  again  and  the  refrain 
came  echoing  back  along  the  lane  and  from  far 
down  the  levee-road,  as  they  rolled  slowly  away  to 
Bon  Soldat : 

Big  Most:  De  rabbit  an'  de  yalligater  comin'  ter  de  feas', 

Cho:  Hi-yi-\ll  \     De  rollin',  de  rollin'  am  done  I 

Big  Mose :  De  coon  an'  de  possum  makin'  lak  dey  mighty 

pleas', 
Cho :  Hi-yi-Y\I  I     De  rollin',  de  rollin'  am  done  I 

We  could  even  hear  it,  faintly,  when,  the  sere- 
nading at  Bon  Soldat  over,  they  wound  along  the 
river-side  to  Ridgefield  and  River- View  —  for  it  is 
the  custbm  for  the  Rolling-Procession  to  visit  all 
the  neighboring  plantations. 


156         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

It  was  sundown  before  they  came  back.  Big 
Mose's  voice  was  a  little  husky,  and  his  tall  form 
swayed  backward  and  forward  in  the  cart,  as  if 
his  knees  might  be  a  little  shaky  under  him,  but 
the  song  was  as  stirring  and  the  chorus  as  ram- 
pant as  ever  when  they  passed  down  the  lane  to 
the  sugar-sheds : 

Big  Mose:  Oh,  bake   dat  hoe-cake,  yaller-gal,  an'  bake  it 

mighty  brown ! 

Cho:  ffi-yi-Yll\     De  rollin',  de  rollin'  am  done! 
Big  Mose :  Sizzle  up  de  bacon-fat  an'  shake  de  coff ee-groun', 
Cho :  ffi-yi-YH  !     De  rollin',  de  rollin'  am  done ! 

Time  was  when  half  the  Parish  gathered  at  La 
Rose  Blanche  the  night  of  the  Rolling-Feast. 
Then,  the  grown-up  ladies  and  gentlemen  would 
stroll  over  to  the  Quarter  and  look  on  for  awhile 
at  the  games  and  dancing  there,  and  go  back  to 
wait  in  the  great-house  parlors,  with  music  and 
perhaps  a  quadrille  or  two  of  their  own,  until  the 
children,  sticky  and  sleepy,  but  very  happy,  came 
over  from  Mammy's  cabin.  For  "  sugar-candy 
night,"  our  own  special  feast,  was  always  at 
Mammy's  cabin. 


POOR   WHITEY.  157 

But  now,  only  Madame  Brion  was  come,  and 
there  was  only  Odille  and  Angelique  to  walk 
through  the  twilight,  with  Sissy-Maria  and  Lucindy- 
Keturah  and  me,  across  to  the  Quarter. 

The  dance  was  down  at  Aunt  Ca'lline's  at  the 
other  end  of  the  Quarter;  and  the  chu'ch  folks 
around  Aunt  Hester's  fire  next  door  were  singing 
hymns.  Stretched  along  under  the  trees  in  front 
of  these  two  cabins  were  long  tables  set  out  with 
great  dishes  of  cold  barbecued  meats  and  sweet- 
potatoes  ;  there  were  generous  trays  of  salt-risin' 
bread  and  bowls  of  cuit;  and  platters  of  snow- 
balls and  other  old-fashioned  cakes  of  Mammy's 
baking. 

The  fiddles  were  scraping  away  down  there  at 
a  lively  rate  ;  and  the  sound  of  hilarious  laughter 
and  of  shuffling  feet  mingled  with  the  lugubrious 
strains  of  baptism'  songs,  led  by  Uncle  Brother 
Jack  Yates. 

There  was  music  in  Mammy's  cabin  too.  Uncle 
Joshua  sat  by  the  open  door,  his  raw-hide-bottom 
chair  tilted  back  against  the  jamb.  His  fiddle 
was  tucked  under  his  chin  and  he  was  playing 


158        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

softly  and  sadly,  with  eyes  half-closed  and  his  out- 
stretched foot  beating  time.  In  the  corner  near 
by  sat  Jerry  with  his  banjo.  Jerry  was  a  "  seeker" 
and  not  "  fitten  "  yet,  he  thought,  to  go  with  the 
chu'ch  folks  in  Aunt  Hester's  cabin ;  and  not 
quite  satisfied  in  his  own  mind  as  to  how  much 
"  de  Debbie  "  might  have  to  do  with  the  frolic  in 
full  swing  at  Aunt  Ca'lline's. 

The  big  pot  was  already  on  the  fire,  with  Mandy 
stationed  in  front  of  it  to  watch  it  and  keep  the 
candy  from  boiling  over.  The  little  boys,  with 
Aunt  Ca'lline's  "triplers,"  Marthy,  Mary  and  Laz'- 
rus,  and  Aunt  Hester's  coal-black  little  Chiltowee, 
were  ranged  solemnly  around  the  hearth,  with  big 
blue  aprons  tied  under  their  chins.  Mammy  was 
lighting  Poor  Whitey's  candles. 

When  she  caught  sight  of  us  she  made  a  dash 
toward  us  holding  up  her  hands.  "  Laws,  chile," 
she  exclaimed,  "  I  dunno  fer  sho',  what  Mis'  Lucy 
is  done  been  thinkin'  'bout  ter  let  you  come  ter 
de  sugar-candy  night  dress'  up  in  dat  caliker  dress 
whar  she  done  gin  forty  dollars  er  yard  fer,  Con- 
fed'rit  money !  An'  look  at  Mis'  Brion's  lil'  gals 


POOR    WHITEY.  l6l 

in  dem  'spensive  mo'nin'  cloze  whan  dey  Maw 
knows  de  Yankees  ain't  gwine  ter  let  no  mo'  run 
de  block-life. :  Jes'  you  all  put  on  dese  here  home- 
spun ap'uns,  an'  don't  you  dar'  ter  tek  'em  off 
whilse  you  is  in  dis  cabin.  Law !  Law !  we-all's 
fambly  is  powerful  extrav'^wz//  But  who  gwine 
ter  blame  'em !  Ain't  dey  de  bes'  o'  de  quality!" 

She  went  back  to  Poor  Whitey  who,  with  her 
crown  of  candles,  adorned  the  table,  which  con- 
tained, besides  the  buttered  plates  for  the  candy, 
a  store  of  good  things  from  the  Rolling-Feast 
tables. 

The  wind  blew  softly  in  moving  the  flames  of 
the  candles  and  stirring  the  ruffled  hangings  of 
Mammy's  big  four-posted  bed  in  the  corner.  We 
were  all  very  quiet  as  yet,  holding  our  breath  lest 
that  fatal  "  turning  back  to  sugar "  should  befall 
the  boiling  candy.  There  was  hardly  a  sound 
except  the  steady  pat  of  Uncle  Joshua's  foot 
keeping  time  to  the  soft  undertones  of  his  fiddle 
and  Jerry's  banjo ;  and  the  funny  little  clank  of 
Abel's  (Mammy's  one-legged  pet  rooster)  wooden 
stump  as  he  strutted  about  the  floor. 


162        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

But,  hark  !  Old  Jupe  lying  on  the  doorstep 
raised  his  head  and  growled.  Uncle  Joshua's  foot 
ceased  its  rythmic  beat  and  he  held  his  bow  sus- 
pended in  air.  There  was  a  confused  trampling 
noise  in  the  lane,  the  sudden  rush  of  horses'  feet, 
an  outcry  of  angry  voices,  a  pistol-shot  —  and 
another !  —  another !  Then  we  heard  the  click  of 
the  big-gate  latch  and  quick  galloping  around  the 
drive  and  up  to  the  great-house. 

A  half-second  or  more  of  breathless  silence  in 
which  On  Jordan's  stormy  banks  and  Billy-in-the 
low-ground  came  floating  in,  strangely  blended 
together,  from  the  feast;  then  light  footsteps 
sounded  in  Mammy's  little  garden,  and  two  men 
leaped  in  at  the  open  door,  and  stood  hesitating 
and  uncertain  in  the  midst  of  us. 

They  were  bareheaded,  and  one  of  them  had  his 
arm  in  a  sling.  The  brass  buttons  on  their  grey 
jackets  flashed  in  the  light. 

They  were  panting  heavily  as  if  from  a  long 
run,  and  they  looked  with  half-defiant,  half-appeal- 
ing eyes  from  Uncle  Joshua  who  had  arisen  from 
his  chair,  to  Mammy  on  the  hearth. 


POOR   WHITEY.  163 

Not  a  word  was  spoken.  We  stared  at  Mammy 
in  wonder  when  after  a  brief  pause  she  laid  a 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  one  of  the  intruders  and 
pushed  him  into  the  corner  behind  her  big,  cur- 
tained bed,  beckoning  at  the  same  time  to  the 
other  one  to  follow.  When  she  turned  and  saw 
our  astonished  and  tell-tale  faces  all  fixed  upon 
the  improvised  hiding-place  —  except  Mandy's ; 
through  this  scene  and  all  that  followed  she  kept 
her  eyes  steadily  upon  the  candy-pot,  merely 
glancing  over  her  shoulder  with  a  grunt  when 
Mammy  pounced  upon  her.  When  Mammy  saw 
our  betraying  faces  she  threw  up  her  hands  in  a 
kind  of  despair. 

"  Mandy,"  she  cried  sharply  all  at  once,  darting 
over  to  the  fireplace,  "yergood-fer-nothin'  frazzle, 
you  is  lettin'  dat  sugar  candy  bile  over  sho's  you 
born !  Lif  hit  offen  de  fiah  fer  er  minit,  an'  don't 
you  dar  ter  stir  hit,  you  hear  me  ? " 

"  Don't  I  knows  dat  yer  don't  has  to  stir  sugar- 
candy  ? "  retorted  Mandy  contemptuously. 

"Joshua,  ole  man,"  continued  Mammy,  turning 
to  him,  "ef  you'll  jes'  tech  up  Sugar-in-de-gourd 


164        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

lak  Daddy  use  ter  play  hit  whense  we  wuz  young 
folks,  I  gwine  ter  show  de  chillun  dem  ar  steps 
whar  I  tuk  de  fus'  time  you  ever  seed  me,  de  night 
whense  you  come  on  er  pass  ter  de  Rollin'-Feas' 
ter  ole  Marster's  Plantation.  Dey  ain't  none  o' 
dem  fool  young  niggers,  not  even  dem  triflin' 
house-gals,  kin  step  'em  off  in  dese  hyar  days." 

Uncle  Joshua  looked  at  her  as  if  dazed  for  a 
moment.  Then  a  sort  of  light  seemed  to  break 
over  his  face.  He  grinned,  but  drew  his  mouth 
demurely  down  at  once,  and  nodded  solemnly. 
He  tilted  his  chair  back,  tucked  his  fiddle  under 
his  chin  and  began. 

No  more  soft,  plaintive  undertones  now !  The 
bow  skipped  mincingly  over  the  strings,  while 
Mammy  slipped  her  feet  from  her  shoes  and  took 
her  position  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  her 
head  well  up,  and  her  hands  fixed  firmly  on  her 
hips.  Then  she  began  to  shuffle  her  feet  slowly, 
her  large  body  graceful,  erect  and  perfectly  mo- 
tionless, and  her  head  turning  gravely  from  side 
to  side. 

The  fiddle  spoke  out.     The  bow  rocked  over  it 


POOR   WHITEY.  165 

in  a  perfect  ecstasy  of  mirth.  Quick,  joyous  notes 
danced  along  the  strings,  ending  in  gay  little 
shrieks,  like  the  bubbling  laughter  of  girls. 
Mammy's  glancing  feet  responded.  A  large  smile 
dawned  upon  her  face  and  her  eyes  twinkled.  I 
think  even  Uncle  Joshua  himself  forgot  the  grey- 
coats in  hiding  behind  the  bed.  I  know  the  rest 
of  us  did. 

As  for  Jerry,  he  sat  in  the  corner,  with. his  legs 
crossed,  his  head  thrown  back,  and  his  eyes  rolled 
up  in  a  fervor  of  delight.  His  long  bony  hands 
skimmed  lightly  as  birds  over  the  strings  of  his 
banjo,  whose  loud  humming  supported  the  high- 
keyed  melody  of  the  fiddle. 

"  Hello !  what  are  you  up  to  in  here  ? " 
Music  and  dancing  stopped  abruptly  at  the 
sound  of  the  rough,  threatening  voice.  It  came 
from  a  tall  man  in  dark-blue  uniform  who  had 
stepped  quietly  upon  the  threshold.  Around  him 
a  dozen  or  more  of  men  were  crowded,  and  behind 
them  we  now  began  to  hear  the  stamping  and 
champing  of  horses,  and  to  see  other  faces  peering 
down  at  us  from  the  saddles. 


1 66        IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE   BLANCHE. 

"What  de  matter,  Sah?"  said  Uncle  Joshua, 
bringing  his  chair  to  the  floor  with  a  thump  and 
getting  up,  fiddle  in  hand. 

"The  matter?"  said  the  officer  who  had  spoken 
before  and  who  held  a  pistol  in  his  hand.  "  The 
matter  is  that  we  are  after  a  couple  of  rebs,  and 
we  have  run  'em  in  here  somewhere.  We  have 
searched  the  house  and  we  are  going  to  search 
this  cabin." 

He  made  a  quick  determined  step  forward  as  he 
spoke,  and  his  men  came  crowding  in  after  him. 

"  Is  dat  so,  Sah  ? "  said  Mammy,  coming  forward 
with  Poor  Whitey  swinging  by  the  large  ring  to 
her  forefinger.  "  Sut'ny,  you  kin  su'ch  de  cabin, 
Sah !  "  she  went  on,  setting  Poor  Whitey  down  on 
the  floor  directly  in  front  of  the  officer,  "you  is 
skeeren  de  chillun,  an'  runnin'  de  resk  o'  spilin' 
dey  sugar-candy,  but  you  is  sut'ny  welcome  ter 
su'ch  de  cabin,  Sah  !  " 

As  she  finished  her  speech  I  saw  her  great  bare 
foot  steal  stealthily  out  from  under  the  edge  of 
her  home-spun  skirt  and  bestow  a  covert  kick 
upon  Poor  Whitey. 


POOR   WHITEY.  167 

And,  behold,  there  was  Poor  Whitey  toppling 
over  with  a  bang  and  the  six  lighted  candles  roll- 
ing about  in  every  direction. 

We  children,  all  except  Mandy  whose  intent  gaze 
was  fixed  upon  the  candy-pot,  set  up  a  shriek,  for 
an  injury  to  Poor  Whitey  seemed  to  us  a  far 
greater  calamity  than  a  Yankee  invasion !  Mammy 
too  began  to  wail  in  a  heart-broken  voice  :  "What 
is  I  gwine  ter  do  ef  Po'  Whitey  am  broke !  An' 
she  been  in  we-alls  fambly  ever  sense  Gin'l  Wash- 
ington done  own  her !  An'  Mis'  Lucy  an'  de  chil- 
lun  so  powerful  keerful  o'  her — " 

The  officer  looked  surly  and  impatient  at  first, 
but  broke  all  at  once  into  a  loud  laugh.  <:  Great 
Scott !  "  he  exclaimed,  standing  by  with  his  arms 
hanging  helpless  at  his  side  while  Mammy  and 
Uncle  Joshua,  and  two  or  three  of  the  soldiers 
scrambled  after  the  candles  and  righted  Poor 
Whitey.  "  What  a  precious  to-do  over  an  old  pew- 
ter thing  like  that !  Come  on,  boys,  there's  nobody 
in  here  but  a  parcel  of  children,  and  these  two 
old  fools!" 

The  others  joined  in  his  laugh  and  they  moved 


1 68        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

on  to  the  next  cabin,  where  we  heard  them  pound- 
ing on  the  door,  and  old  Aunt  Rose's  thin  queru- 
lous voice  in  parley  with  them. 

Uncle  Joshua  resumed  his  seat,  but  his  fiddle 
dropped  to  the  floor,  and  he  sat  staring  blankly  at 
Mammy,  while  the  menacing  voices  echoed  on 
from  cabin  to  cabin,  until  they  finally  broke  in 
upon  the  singing  and  dancing  at  the  other  end  of 
the  Quarter. 

Apparently  the  chase  was  about  given  up,  for 
presently  we  heard  the  sound  of  the  horses  feet 
as  they  galloped  off  down  the  lane,  and  the  merry- 
making began  again  and  grew  louder  and  more 
boisterous  than  before. 

I  do  not  know  when  the  two  rebels  came  out 
from  their  hiding-place  and  passed  over  to  the 
great-house.  Perhaps  when  the  candy,  which  came 
out  all  right  under  Mandy's  steady  care,  had  been 
poured  into  the  buttered  plates,  and  Mammy  al- 
lowed us  to  take  it  out  into  the  back  yard  to  cool. 

Anyway,  they  were  at  the  great-house  the  next 
morning ;  and  they  stayed  there  for  the  next  three 
weeks,  though  we  children  never  saw  them,  and 


POOR   WHITEY.  169 

did  not  know  until  afterward  that  they  had  been 
all  that  time  shut  up  in  the  little  cabinet-room 
where  father  kept  his  fishing-tackle. 

They  were  brothers ;  nice-looking  lads,  mother 
said.  They  had  been  home  on  a  short  furlough, 
and  were  making  their  way  back  to  their  command 
on  the  other  side  of  the  River. 

One  night  Uncle  Joshua  thought  he  might  ven- 
ture to  put  them  across.  Randolph,  the  elder 
brother,  was  picked  off  by  the  sharp-shooters,  when 
they  were  nearly  in  mid-stream.  He  was  instantly 
killed  and  his  bleeding  body  dropped  over  into 
the  river  and  was  borne  away  on  its  yellow  bosom. 

Jack,  the  younger,  made  the  landing  safely  and 
reported  to  his  regiment  for  duty. 

Poor  Whitey  remains  to  this  day  a  cherished 
member  of  La  Rose  Blanche  family.  Not  long 
ago  I  heard  Mammy's  voice  on  the  veranda.  By 
its  tone  I  knew  that  she  was  back  "endurin'  o' 
de  wah."  I  peeped  out.  She  was  sitting  in  a 
low  easy-chair  —  for  Mammy  is  very  old  —  and  in 
front  of  her  stood  two  freckle-faced,  curly-haired 
little  boys. 


170        IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

"Ef  hit  hadn't  er  been  fer  Po'  Whitey,"  she 
was  saying,  "yo'  paw  wouldn't  er  never  come 
back  an'  married  into  our  fambly,  an'  you  wouldn't 
er  been  kin  to  we-all.  Caze  when  he  war  hid 
'hine  my  bed  in  de  cabin  dat  night  'long  o'  yo'  po' 
Uncle  Randolph  whar  de  sharp-shoopers  done  kill, 
ef  Po'  Whitey  hadn't  er  tuk  hit  in  her  hade  ter 
timble  over,  de  Yankees  would  er  cotch  him  sho' !" 

"  An'  was  my  mamma  married  to  my  papa 
then  ?  "  queried  one  of  the  little  boys. 

"  Shucks,  chillun,  what  is  you  talkin'  'bout ! " 
said  Mandy  who  had  come  up  the  steps.  "  Miss 
Ma'y  wa'nt  nothin'  but  er  teenchy  lil'  gal  den,  an' 
she  wuz  mo'  skeerder  lessen  de  Yankees  tooken 
dem  dolls  o'  hern  —  'specially  dat  Lucindy-Ketury 
whar  you  heern  her  tell  'bout,  dan  she  wuz  'sturb 
lessen  dey  git  yo'  paw  !  " 

"  Dass  so  ! "  chuckled  Mammy,  nodding  her  tur- 
baned  head.  "  All  de  same,  hit  wuz  'long  o'  Po' 
Whitey  dat  de  Yankees  didn't  cotch  Marse  Jack, 
an'  dat  huccome  yo'  maw  think  so  much  o'  Po' 
Whitey ! " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  LETTER  FROM  THE  FRONT. 

DEY  mus'  be  er  blue-coat  roun'  here  some- 
whurs ! "  exclaimed  Mandy,  stopping  ab- 
ruptly and  beginning  to  peer  about  her. 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked,  stopping  too,  but  not  quaking 
with  terror  as  I  would  once  have  done  at  such 
an  announcement.  We  were  getting  used  to  blue- 
coats  at  La  Rose  Blanche. 

"  Caze,  I  is  jes'  dis  minit  heerd  ole  Mister 
Fraid-o'-Yankee  gin  dat  squawk  o'  his'n  whar  mean 
ter  say  dat  he  is  done  seed  er  blue-coat ;  an'  he 
sut'ny  ain't  gin  it  na'y  time  yit  'd'out  he  is  seed 
one." 

Sure  enough,  even  as  she  spoke  there  he  came 

around  the  corner  of  the  carriage-house,  the  big 

white  gander,  and  running  as   if  for   dear  life ! 

His  wings  were  out-spread ;  his  neck  stretched  to 

171 


172         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

its  utmost  length;  his  clumsy  yellow  feet  were 
beating  the  dust.  He  turned  his  eyes  piteously 
upon  us  as  he  went  by,  but  he  did  not  stop ;  and 
we  watched  him  with  breathless  interest  as  he 
labored  across  the  back-yard,  and  up  the  steps  of 
the  great-house  veranda ;  until  he  finally  made  a 
dive  at  the  hall-door  and  disappeared  from 
view. 

"  Dar !  he  knows  he  safe  now !  "  chuckled 
Mandy. 

Mister  Fraid-o'- Yankee  had  had  no  history  — 
not  even  a  name  —  up  to  the  day  when  the  Yan- 
kees first  invaded  La  Rose  Blanche.  He  had 
waddled  placidly  about  the  stable-yard  at  the  head 
of  a  great  flock  of  motherly,  respectable  geese  and 
long-legged,  downy  goslings,  leading  them  proudly 
of  mornings  down  to  the  wide  ditch  for  their  daily 
swim,  and  marshalling  them  at  precisely  the  same 
hour  every  afternoon  in  front  of  Mammy's  cabin- 
door  to  be  fed. 

But  that  day  had  wrought  a  great  change  in  his 
destiny  !  Every  feathered  thing  on  the  Plantation 
had  that  day  fallen  a  victim  to  the  nimble-footed, 


A    LETTER    FROM    THE   FRONT.  173 

noisy,  hungry  soldiers ;  except  this  same  patriarch- 
gander,  who  after  having  been  chased  around  and 
around  the  stables,  and  over  and  under  the  little 
crib,  and  across  the  back-yard,  had  saved  himself 
at  last  by  a  despairing  flight  up  the  veranda-steps, 
whence  he  made  his  way  into  the  dining-room. 
There  he  ensconced  himself  under  the  side-board 
and  refused  for  days  to  come  out.  When  he  did 
at  last  make  his  appearance,  bedraggled  and  very 
cast-down,  he  took  up  his  quarters  in  the  sitting- 
room  with  us  children,  and  never  ventured  into 
the  yard  until  his  foes  had  changed  their  camp, 
and  even  then,  only  after  a  long  and  solemn  sur- 
vey of  the  premises  from  the  top  step. 

From  that  time  on,  the  most  distant  glimpse  of 
a  blue  uniform  filled  him  with  terror.  He  would 
utter  one  hoarse  frightened  squawk,  as  Mandy 
said,  and  make  for  the  house  with  all  his  might, 
never  stopping  until  he  was  under  the  side-board, 
which  he  seemed  to  consider  the  only  safe  place 
of  refuge  for  him. 

It  was  one  of  the  little  boys  who  had  dubbed 
him  derisively  Mister  Fraid-o'- Yankee  ;  and  ole 


174        IN    WARTIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

Mister  Fraid-o'- Yankee  he  had  been  now  for 
nearly  three  )'ears. 

"  Yes,  dey  is  sholy  er  Yankee  somewhurs  roun' 
here,"  repeated  Mandy  when  we  had  seen  the  old 
gander  quite  out  of  reach  of  real  or  fancied  pur- 
suit, "  an'  dar  he  am  now,  Miss  Ma'y,  down  yan- 
der  by  lil'  Miss  Ally's  br'ur's  grave  !  " 

We  had  come  out  of  the  stable-yard  where  we 
had  been  hunting  eggs,  and  turned  into  the  weed- 
grown  path  skirting  along  the  orange-plantation. 

A  solitary  figure  in  dark-blue  uniform  was  indeed 
standing  beside  the  grave  of  "  little  Ally's  brother," 
as  we  always  called  the  unknown  Yankee  lad  whose 
memory  we  tenderly  cherished.  He  held  his  cap 
in  one  hand  and  the  other  rested  on  the  rough 
wooden  cross  where  half  an  hour  before  we  had 
hung  the  fresh  garland  daily  placed  there. 

He  looked  up  and  saw  us  as  we  were  stealing 
away  and  beckoned  us  to  him.  A  little  of  the 
old  tremor  passed  over  me  as  I  went  forward,  but 
it  melted  upon  a  nearer  view  of  the  honest  open 
face  and  kindly  grey  eyes  of  the  soldier. 

He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  short  and  rather 


A    LETTER    FROM    THE    FRONT.  175 

stout  with  grizzled  hair  and  moustache.  He  wore 
a  couple  of  gold  stripes  on  his  sleeves.  He  waved 
his  hand  as  we  came  slowly  up,  and  called  out 
cheerily,  "  Don't  you  be  a-feared,  I  hain't  no  idee 
o'  hurtin'  you  !  " 

We  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  grave  and  looked 
at  him  in  silence.  "This  poor  little  chap  here," 
he  said  presently,  touching  the  sod  with  his  foot, 
"was  in  my  mess,  and  a  braver  and  better  lad 
never  carried  a  gun  on  his  shoulder !  He  hadn't 
ought  to  have  gone  in  the  fight  that  day,  for  he 
wasn't  well ;  and  he  was  downhearted  like  ;  and 
just  the  night  before  he  said  to  me,  he  said, 
'  Parker,  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  feel  some- 
how as  if  I'm  never  going  to  see  my  mother  and 
my  little  sister  again,  and  if  I  get  killed  to-mor- 
row' —  and  then  he  sort  of  choked  and  didn't  say 
any  more.  I  come  over  here  with  a  squad  of  men 
soon's  we  could  after  the  fight  looking  for  him,  and 
I  ain't  never  forgot  that  there  hed  been  kind  hands 
to  bury  him  ;  and  more  than  once  since,  I've  been 
here  and  seen  that  kind  hands  keep  on  keerin'  yet 
for  his  grave." 


176        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

He  seemed  to  be  talking  to  himself  rather  than 
to  us,  and  muttered  on,  as  he  stooped  to  pick  up 
a  bit  of  orange-flower  from  the  loose  bunches  scat- 
tered over  the  mound. 

But,  as  he  lifted  his  head,  a  confused,  hesitating 
look  came  into  his  face.  He  put  his  hand  into  his 
jacket-pocket.  "  I've  got  a  letter  here  that  be- 
longs to  your  folks,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  captured 
the  man  that  was  bringing  it  myself  —  yesterday. 
There  was  some  other  things  too,  for  —  for  your 
folks,  but  I  guess  the  Colonel  '11  bring  them  over 
himself.  I  thought  I'd  bring  this.  It's  been  read, 
and  there  ain't  any  bad  news  in  it." 

He  handed  it  to  me.  I  broke  out  in  thanks 
and  exclamations  of  delight.  "  Poor  little  gal,"  I 
heard  him  say  as  he  turned  away. 

"  He  didn't  mean  me,  did  he,  Mandy  ? "  I  asked 
as  we  ran  along  the  broad  sweet-scented  avenue 
of  orange-trees  toward  the  house. 

"I  reckin  he  mus'  er  meant  lil'  Miss  Ally," 
suggested  Mandy. 

Mother  was  in  the  dining-room  cutting  out 
clothes  for  the  field-hands.  Mammy  was  busy 


A    LETTER    FROM    THE    FRONT.  177 

putting  together  and  folding  the  pieces,  and  Sophy 
was  running  out  every  few  minutes  with  great  bun- 
dles to  the  sewing-women  at  work  in  the  weaving- 
room.  Over  by  the  front  windows  cousin  Nellie 
was  directing  M'lindy  and  'Riah  who  were  braiding 
palmetto.  The  four  little  boys  seated  on  the  floor 
were  soberly  sorting  out  palmetto-strips. 

But  when  we  came  running  in  with  the  letter 
everything  stopped.  It  was  a  bulky  package  com- 
posed mostly  of  scraps  of  brown  paper  written 
upon  with  a  lead-pencil.  Mother  grew  a  shade 
paler  as  she  took  it.  "Oh,  it's  been  read,  mother," 
I  cried  gayly,  "  there  ain't  any  bad  news  in 
it!" 

It  was  from  brother  Hart  and  dated  more  than 
six  months  ago.  But  it  was  also  the  first  letter 
from  the  boys  for  more  than  a  year !  And  how 
our  hearts  beat  while  we  listened  ! 

"  Dere  Mother,"  it  began,  the  bad  spelling 
seeming  somehow  to  bring  him  nearer  to  us,  it  was 
so  like  him !  "  The  boy  hasn't  got  it  in  him  to 
spell  properly,"  Tom  Dennison  the  tutor  used  to 
say  with  a  doleful  laugh. 


178        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

*  "  Dere  Mother,  we  have  not  written  since  we 
were  marched  over  to  Tenneesee  last  fall  to  help 
fight  the  battle  of  Chickamauga  ;  and  the  last  we 
heard  from  home  was  when  Father  came  back 
from  there.  (And  we  have  seen  him  only  once 
since  then.)  We  know  we  ought  to  have  written, 
and  brother  Tom  would  write  (now  that  we  have 
a  chants  to  send  a  letter),  but  he  is  on  duty.  I 
am  laid  up  (with  not  much  the  matter — a  little 
stratch  only  — )  and  Virg  is  waiting  on  me.  I 
will  try  and  tell  you  all  that  has  befalen  us  since 
we  wrote  last. 

"  We  miss  poor  Wes  so  much  !  Sometimes  I 
think  I  can  hear  him  calling  me  through  the  noyse 
of  a  fight,  as  he  did  when  he  lay  dying  at  Chicka- 
mauga ! 

"  But,  I  will  tell  you  about  our  moovements  since 
we  wrote  last. 

"  After  leaving  Chattanooga,  we  had  but  little 
fighting  the  ballance  of  last  winter  except  a  small 
affair  at  Knoxville  ;  but  we  spent  a  miserable  win- 

*  Written  by  Hartwell  Moore,  Company  A,  ist  Texas  Regiment, 
Hood's  Brigade. 


A   LETTER    FROM    THE   FRONT.  179 

ter  in  East  Tenneesee.  We  were  where  we  could 
not  get  either  rations  or  clothes  from  the  Govern- 
ment, and  we  lived  by  foraging  in  the  country 
(Virg  is  the  best  forager  you  ever  saw !)  and  the 
only  active  service  we  did  was  an  occasional  brush 
with  some  stray  cavalry,  and  now  and  then  to  run 
down  a  bushwacker.  By  the  time  spring  came  we 
were  in  the  worst  possible  fix.  (It  would  be 
spring  at  La  Rose  Blanche  but  it  seemed  like 
mid  winter  when  we  began  to  move  on  for  Vir- 
ginia.) 

"  One  morning  General  Longstreet  called  for  all 
the  men  that  had  shoes  to  report  at  Head  Quar- 
ters, and  out  of  our  whole  regiment  of  over  400 
men,  there  were  but  20  that  had  shoes  and  a  suit 
of  clothes.  (Brother  Tom  was  among  these  lucky 
ones,  but  I  wasn't  —  somehow.)  The  rest  were  a 
sorry-looking  lot  of  men  ;  most  all  were  barefooted, 
and  all  were  ragged  and  dirty.  The  men  that  had 
shoes  and  clothes  were  detailed  from  each  regi- 
ment, and  I  believe  that  out  of  the  whole  corps 
there  were  only  about  400  or  500  men.  They  gave 
them  axes  and  sent  them  ahead  to  build  fires 


l8o         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

at  short  intervals,  and  our  march  was  a  sort  of 
scramble  from  one  fire  to  another.  There  was  no 
order  about  it ;  we  were  allowed  to  get  as  warm  as 
we  could  at  one  fire,  and  then  go  as  far  as  we  could, 
and  then  stop  at  another.  I  nede  not  say  that  we 
were  scattered  along  the  rout  for  about  100  miles, 
but  all  finally  got  to  the  line  without  accident  or 
loss.  (I  thought  the  cold  would  kill  both  Dandy 
and  Virg !)  From  there  they  brought  us  on  by 
train  to  Charlottsville,  and  there  we  drew  rations 
and  clothes  and  we  were  as  proud  as  soldiers  could 
well  be  to  look  decent  once  more. 

"  It  was  here  we  drew  for  the  first  time  coffee 
as  rations  (shore  enough  coffee  and  none  of  your 
parched  meal !).  We  only  got  a  table  spoonful  of 
green  coffee  for  3  days  rations.  (We  generally 
used  ours  to  play  ocld-or-even  with  !) 

"  But  we  hadn't  had  any  fighting  for  some 
time  and  the  boys  were  getting  tired  of  doing 
nothing. 

"  So  that  it  was  a  welcome  order  which  said  one 
day  '  Cook  3  days  rations  and  be  ready  to  move 
in  2  hours.'  That  is  about  the  way  we  always 


A    LETTER    FROM    THE    FRONT.  183 

get  our  orders.  Well,  we  didn't  get  the  cooking 
done,  but  we  did  move  in  the  2  hours. 

"  We  had  been  away  so  long  that  we  did  not 
know  where  the  Yankees  were,  or  our  own  army, 
either,  for  that  matter ;  but  from  the  way  they 
hurried  us  on,  and  from  an  all-night  march,  with 
but  3  hours  halt,  we  knew  there  was  something 
up. 

"  This  was  about  the  4th  of  May  2  days  before 
the  battle  of  the  Wilderness  (2  months  ago.) 

"  It  was  on  that  morning  that  I  was  made  Color- 
Bearer.  There  was  no  sentiment  wasted  on  it. 
Our  Company  is  the  color-company  by  position 
in  the  Regiment.  We  have  2  stands  of  colors,  a 
State  flag  and  a  battle-flag.  It  was  the  State  flag 
that  was  given  to  me.  There  was  little  seremony 
about  the  presentation.  As  we  were  about  to 
move,  my  Captain  ordered  me  to  the  front  to  re- 
ceive the  colors  of  our  Great  State,  the  flag  that 
more  than  50  men  had  been  killed  while  bearing 
it,  and  the  same  colors  that  had  been  the  Guide  to 
a  thousand  men  who  were  perfectly  willing  to  die 
for  it,  and  the  last  thing  that  many  a  man  had 


184        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

looked  at  as  he  drew  his  last  breath  ;  and  the 
same  flag  that  but  2  days  after,  led  some  175 
men  to  death  or  greevous  wounds.  This  was  the 
formal  presentation  by  the  Captain  ;  I  was  ordered 
to  the  front : 

"  '  Private ,  you  are  hereby  detailed  to  carry 

the  flag.  You  will  have  the  rank  of  sergeant,  and 
are  hereby  relieved  from  all  company  duty.  Fall 
in !  right-face  !  forward,  march !  arms  at  will, 
rout  step  ! ' 

"  So  I  am  a  Color-Bearer ;  and  brother  Tom  is 
a  Corporal.  And  Virg  and  Dandy  are  proud  I 
can  tell  you.  They  think  we  are  bigger  than 
Major-Generals  ! 

"  So  we  mooved  along  day  and  night  in  good 
spirits,  for  all  the  signs  pointed  to  active  work. 
We  marched  all  night  the  night  of  the  5th  and  the 
morning  of  the  6th  found  us  on  the  road  to  the 
Wilderness. 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  morning  and  we  all  enjoyed 
it.  For  there  was  not  a  man  that  ever  thought 
that  before  the  sun  that  was  just  rising  went  down, 
more  than  one  half  of  us  would  be  dead  or  wounded, 


A   LETTER    FROM    THE    FRONT.  185 

with  thousands  of  others.  But  when  the  sun  be- 
gan to  come  up  it  was  a^  red  as  blood.  I  have 
never  seen  the  sun  look  as  red  as  it  did  that 
morning. 

"  A  few  minutes  after  we  saw  the  sun,  we  heard 
a  cannon-shot  —  the  first  we  had  heard  for  months, 
and  we  might  have  thought  it  a  sunrise-gun,  if  it 
had  not  been  followed  by  so  many  others.  We 
knew  then  that  the  day's  work  had  begun.  As  we 
were  in  good  spirits,  there  was  many  a  joke  passed 
around  about  \h&  furlough  wounds  some  of  us  would 
get,  for  you  know  no  one  gets  a  leave  of  absence 
now  except  for  a  wound. 

"  Now,  we  meet  a  courier,  his  horse  just  able  to 
stagger  along,  but  still  nobly  doing  his  best  — 
some  would  say  '  under  whip  and  spur ' ;  but  a 
cavalryman,  or  a  courier  does  not  use  whip  or 
spur.  They  can  get  more  ride  out  of  a  horse  than 
any  one.  They  just  stick  close  to  the  horse,  lean 
forward  and  help  him  over  all  the  bad  places,  and 
neithur  beat  nor  kick  the  wind  out  of  him  ;  and  so 
long  as  he  is  able  to  moove  the  horse  will  go,  and 
often  stops  to  drop  dead. 


1 86        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

"  We  meet  the  courier  and  at  once  there  comes 
the  order  :  '  Forward  !  T)ouble-Quick  !  March  ! ' 
Then  all  sounds  ceased  except  the  rattle  of  our 
harness  and  the  tramp  of  our  feet.  On  we  go, 
over  miles  and  miles  (we  were  8  miles  off.)  We 
have  no  orders  except  once  in  a  while  '  close  up  ! ' 
Now,  some  of  the  heavier-burdened  begin  to  get 
behind.  Our  officers  do  not  urge  them,  or  order 
them  along,  for  they  know  that  every  man  that  is 
going  in  the  fight  will  be  there  somehow,  and  those 
that  mean  to  shirk  will  do  it  anyhow. 

"  On  we  go,  never  breaking  the  double-quick. 
Now  those  that  we  were  leaving  come  on  under 
all  the  steam  that  they  can  put  on.  Most  of  them 
have  thrown  away  their  knap-sacks  and  blankets, 
and  as  they  step  in  rank  they  gasp  out  :  '  if  we  win 
I  can  get  all  the  blankets  I  want,  and  If  we  lose  I 
won't  need  them  '  —  and  many  a  man  never  did 
need  them. 

"  We  speed  on,  and  meet  courier  after  courier, 
but  can  go  no  faster. 

"  All  in  front  has  become  silent.  Now  we  be- 
gin to  see  a  few  wounded  men.  (You  know  a 


A    LETTER    FROM    THE    FRONT.  187 

wounded  man  can  go  where  he  pleases.)  Still  we 
have  no  news  from  the  front. 

"  Now,  we  halt  for  a  few  moments  to  take  60 
rounds  of  ammunition,  and  make  hasty  inquiries 
at  a  house  if  there  has  been  any  fighting  around 
there.  She  only  says  that  the  whole  Earth  is 
covered  with  soldiers.  '  What  are  they  ?  Yanks 
or  Rebs  ?'  'All  sorts ! ' 

"  On  again  at  a  double-quick.  Now  we  come  to 
where  the  fences  have  been  pulled  down  for  the 
Cavalry  to  Operate.  A  little  farther  and  we  are 
in  the  woods  that  begin  the  Wilderness.  Now  we 
come  to  field-hospitals,  with  surgeons  busy,  and  all 
around  under  the  trees  wounded  men.  Now  we 
come  to  wagons,  and  disabled  Artillery,  some  with 
2  and  some  with  3  horses ;  and  now  to  a  con- 
fused lot  of  men,  horses,  cannon,  wagons  and  am- 
bulances. 

"  We  know  by  this  time  that  it  has  been  almost, 
if  not  quite  a  defeat ;  and  it  gets  worse  and  worse 
as  we  move  on,  for  here  we  find  small  groups  of 
men  crowded  around  a  torn  flag,  and  officers  rush- 
ing around  trying  to  rally  their  men,  some  com- 


1 88         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

manding  and  some  begging  them  to  get  to  their 
places.  The  men  seemed  to  have  lo^t  all  heart, 
but  as  we  came  along  and  they  knew  that  releef 
was  at  hand,  they  took  new  courage  and  began  to 
get  to  their  places,  and  even  raised  a  faint  cheer 
as  we  passed  them. 

"  Then  there  is  a  little  space  where  there  is 
nothing  but  dead  and  wounded,  the  dead  grim  and 
silent,  and  the  wounded  crying  for  water  and  some 
praying  for  death. 

"  Now,  we  are  thrown  out  in  line  of  battle  and 
move  on  more  steady.  We  come  to  a  small  open 
place  and  here  find  a  battery  of  6  guns,  all  that 
was  between  the  armies  of  Grant  and  Lee. 

"  There  was  a  few  officers  near  the  guns,  but 
none  of  them  looked  very  lively.  As  we  pass  the 
battery  they  cease  firing  and  we  moove  silently  on, 
down  to  a  line  of  thick  brush-wood  where  we  know 
that  some  of  us  at  least  will  meet  death,  and  an 
uncertain  fate  for  all.  We  get  nearer  and  nearer 
the  wood.  All  the  skirmishers  are  in  and  we  make 
ready  for  the  first  shock  when  God  of  Heaven  ! 
there  is  General  Lc !  He  passes  through  our 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  FRONT.       189 

ranks.  There  is  no  need  to  call  a  halt,  for  as  one 
man  we  halt,  and  there  is  a  mighty  shout  of  '  Go 
back  General  Lee!  Go  back  General  Lee!1  Some 
men  seize  his  bridle-rein  and  some  catch  his  stir- 
rups. He  waves  them  off  and  turns  to  us  and 
says: 

"  '  On  this  Brigade  depends  the  fate  of  this  day. 
The  enemy  must  be  held  until  our  men  come  up. 
I  will  lead  you  myself.' 

"  There  was  not  a  man  to  moove  ;  but  still  the 
cry  of  '  Go  back  General  Lee  ! ' 

"  Then  our  General  Lee  raised  his  hat  and  rode 
back.  All  this  time  there  had  not  been  a  single 
shot  fired  from  either  side. 

"  Just  here  a  poor  little  rabbit,  so  scared  that  it 
did  not  know  what  to  do,  came  and  laid  itself 
down  at  the  feet  of  one  of  my  mess-mates.  He 
took  it  tenderly  up  and  put  it  in  his  haversack. 

"  Now  comes  the  order  :  '  Forward  guide  cen- 
tre !  keep  cool,  men  !  aim  low  ! '  With  a  wild 
yell  we  dash  forward,  and  but  a  few  steps  and  we 
receive  a  terrible  volley  at  the  shortest  possible 
range.  What  wide  gaps  it  makes  in  our  ranks ! 


1 90        IN    WAR-TIMES    AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

but  we  close  them  up  and  rush  forward,  and  gain 
inch  by  inch,  giving  volley  for  volley. 

"  But  how  very  thin  our  ranks  are  getting  !  and 
the  smoke  is  so  thick  that  we  cannot  see,  but  stumble 
over  the  dead  and  wounded  of  the  enemy,  whom 
we  are  already  pushing  back.  Now,  they  bring  up 
a  fresh  line  and  we  sway  back  and  forth  for  a  few 
moments  ;  then  they  break  and-  we  gain  a  little  ; 
now  they  rally  and  come  down  on  us,  as  if  to  crush 
us  with  weight  of  numbers.  We  are  down  in  a 
little  ditch,  almost  surrounded,  but  determined  not 
to  give  up,  for  has  not  our  General  Lee  told  us  to 
hold  them  back  until  our  men  come  up  ! 

"  Now  we  hear  the  thunder  of  a  battery  coming 
down,  and  they  unlimber  close  to  us  and  we  hear 
every  order  as  they  load  the  guns.  Still  not  a  man 
.has  thought  of  giving  up  ;  when  thank  God,  we  hear 
close  in  our  rear  the  old  rebel  yell,  and  we  know 
that  is  our  relief.  And  they  do  come  with  a  rush, 
capture  the  battery  before  it  has  time  to  fire  a  shot ; 
and  we  are  moved  back  to  rally  what  few  there  is 
left  of  us. 

"  We  were  in  there  just  3  quarters  of  an  hour, 


A    LETTER    FROM    THE    FRONT.  191 

and  we  lost  one  half  of  our  men.  Of  the  12  that 
went  in  as  color-guard,  the  other  flag-bearer  and 
myself  were  the  only  ones  that  came  out  at  all,  and 
our  flags  were  both  full  of  holes  and  the  staffs  shot 
in  several  places. 

"  But  our  work  was  done  for  that  day.  We  re- 
formed our  Biigade  and  only  lost  a  few  more  men 
in  a  charge  later  in  the  day. 

"  Neither  brother  Tom,  nor  Virg,  nor  Dandy,  nor 
myself  was  hurt  that  day  ;  a  bullet  tore  the  top  of 
brother  Tom's  cap  off,  and  that  was  all. 

"  Well,  you  may  want  to  know  the  fate  of  the 
man  and  the  rabbit.  I  know  little  Sis  and  Mandy 
will.  Dandy  and  Virg  say  that  the  rabbit  was  a 
4  luck-charm,'  for  that  night  as  we  all  sat  by  a  lit- 
tle fire  among  thousands  of  dead  and  wounded, 
my  mess-mate  took  out  the  rabbit  from  his  haver- 
sack. 

"It  was  alive,  and  neither  the  rabbit  nor 
the  man  had  a  scratch  ;  and  as  we  talked  over 
the  many  things  that  had  happened  that  day,  he 
cooked  the  rabbit  on  a  ramrod  over  the  fire  and 
we  all  ate  him  !  That  sounds  cruel  I  know  dere 


IQ2         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

Mother  !     But  you  must  not  forget  that  we  are 
about  half-starved  all  the  time  ! 

"  And  now  as  my  hand  aches,  I  reckon  I  will 
have  to  let  brother  Tom  tell  the  rest  of  the  story. 
He  sends  his  love  and  so  do  Dandy  and  Virg. 
Father  was  well  when  we  heard  from  him  last. 
Dominique  is  writing  to  his  mother  and  sends  his 
love  to  you.  Tell  Mammy  that  we  wish  often  for 
some  of  her  good-go-downs. 

"  We  will  soon  be  coming  home  we  think  for  the 
Confederacy  is  bound  to  be  reconized  and  the  war 
can't  last  much  longer.     With  love  dere  Mother, 
Your  son,  HART. 

"  Jes'  look  at  dat  now,"  cried  Mammy  in  a  burst 
of  admiration,  as  mother  finished  the  reading. 
"  Didn't  I  tcile  you,  Mis'  Lucy,  honey,  dat  dem 
chillun  wuz  gwine  ter  come  home  all  kivered  wid 
gole,  luk  dey  granpappy's,  an'  dey  gret-gran- 
pappy's  pickshur  whar  hangin'  in  de  parlor !  But 
dey  ain't  forgit  dey  ole  Mammy's  good-go-downs, 
do  !  An'  ef  dey  is  er  dus1  er  flour  in  de  flour 
barrel  —  which  dey  ain't  now  —  but  ef  dey  is 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  FROXT.        193 

whense  dey  gits  home  I  gwine  ter  mek  'em  er 
bakin'  o'  good-go-clowns  whar  gwine  ter  mek  dey 
moufs  water !  " 

But  mother  was  not  listening.  "  My  poor  little 
Wesley,"  she  murmured  with  overflowing  eyes  and 
with  Cousin  Nellie's  head  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Dass  so,"  said  Mammy,  her  face  changing. 
"  De  chile  fyar  call  ter  me  sometimes  in  de  middle 
o'  de  night-time  so's  I  cyan't  sleep.  Jes'  lak  he 
call  ter  de  yuther  chile  o'  my  bres',  HI'  Marse 
Hart  whar  is  got  ter  be  er  Color-Barrier,  an'  whar 
writ  dat  fine  letter  !  But  don't  you  cry,  Miss  Nellie, 
honey  ;  he  walkin'  in  de  streets  o'  gole  dis  minit 
whar  dey  ain't  no  mo'  wah  !  " 

"  —  An'  no  mo'  hongry,  an'  no  mo'  col',  an'  no 
mo'  trebble,  an'  no  mo'  br'ur  gins  br'ur,  bless  de 
Lord!"  added  Uncle  Joshua  who  had  come  in 
quietly  during  the  reading  of  the  letter. 

"  Less  play  Wilderness,"  cried  Charley  to  his 
three  companions. 

And  while  they  were  quarreling  about  which 
should  be  the  Yanks  and  which  the  Rebs,  old 
Mister  Fraid-o'- Yankee  came  out  from  under  the 


194        IN   WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

side-board.  He  argued  well  perhaps  from  the 
joyous  faces  he  saw  all  around ;  for  he  walked  out 
on  the  gallery,  and  having  first  carefully  spied 
out  the  land,  he  waddled  down  the  steps  into  the 
back-yard. 


CHAPTER  X. 
A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST. 

THERE  was  always  that  quaint  pleasant  "  cor- 
ner of  La  Rose  Blanche  "  down  on  Rue 
Royale  in  the  old  French  Quarter  of  New  Ore- 
leans  !  But  during  the  war-times  Rose  Blanche 
seemed  suddenly  to  stretch  far  and  wide  its  arms, 
and  to  take  in,  here  a  weather-stained  tent,  or  a 
rude  hut ;  there  a  trampled  space  of  ground  about 
a  cheery  camp-fire  with  only  the  sky  for  a  roof ; 
or  a  long  stretch  of  dusty  road  echoing  to  the 
steady  swinging  tramp  of  an  army ;  or  a  pallet  in 
a  crowded  hospital-ward  ;  or  a  bunk  in  a  prison ; 
or  even,  alas,  a  smoke-hung,  blood-besprinkled 
battle-field !  For  wherever  father  and  the  boys 
were,  there  was  a  part  of  La  Rose  Blanche. 

There  were  a  great  many  happenings  in  these 
outlying  dependencies  of  the  home  roof-tree,  that 

'95 


196        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

we  knew  only  long  afterward,  when  peace  had  come 
again ;  and  the  Blue  and  the  Grey  had  clasped 
hands  in  a  union  never  more  to  be  disturbed. 

Here  is  the  story  of  one  of  these  happenings. 
Out  of  the  picture  that  it  makes  as  I  recall  it, 
look  the  dark  laughing  eyes  of  Cousin  Wesley 
Branscome,  who  cried  so  the  day  brother  Tom 
and  brother  Hart  went  away,  because  he  was  not 
old  enough  to  go  too !  And  who,  a  year  later, 
shouldered  his  gun  and  marched  off  to  join  the 
Selden  Rifles  in  Virginia.  How  we  all  ran  down 
to  the  gate  after  him  the  morning  he  went  away ! 
And  how  much  harder  it  seemed  to  see  him  go 
because  there  were  no  flags  flying,  as  when  the 
others  marched,  and  no  drum  beating,  and  no  fife 
playing  "  The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me,"  and  no 
shouting  and  hurrahs !  But  only  a  little  squad 
of  recruits,  eager  indeed  but  not  gay.  For  the 
past  long  sad  year  had  taught  us  all  something  of 
what  war  meant ! 

"  Tuzzin  Wes  !  "  cried  little  Percy  after  him  as 
he  turned  off  down  the  lane,  "  don't  you  fordit  to 
turn  back ! " 


A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST.  197 

"  I'm  sure  to  come  back,  little  Perce,"  called 
Cousin  Wes  gayly  over  his  shoulder. 

"  And  that  is  why  they  call  the  place  La  Rose 
Blanche,"  said  Tom  Dennison. 

It  was  a  windless  night,  and  the  smoke  of  the 
camp-fire  floated  gently  upward  toward  a  clear, 
steel-blue  winter  sky  where  the  stars  glittered  coldly 
bright.  Ruddy  light  from  the  blazing  logs  played 
over  the  faded  grey  uniforms  of  the  men  lounging 
around,  and  turned  their  tarnished  brass  buttons 
to  gold ;  further  back,  in  the  rude  brush  tent,  it 
set  agleam  here,  a  polished  gun-barrel,  there,  a 
rusty  canteen ;  and  softened  the  dinginess  of  the 
smoke-hung  boughs  on  the  roof  and  the  sombre 
colors  of  the  soiled  and  ragged  blankets  lying  in 
careless  heaps  upon  the  well-trampled  ground. 

Other  fires  were  burning  along  the  narrow  val- 
ley and  under  the  lee  of  the  snow-covered  ridges ; 
and  long  lines  of  brush-tents,  with  now  and  then 
a  rough  attempt  at  a  log-cabin,  stretched  out  in 
every  direction.  For  the  army  was  in  winter 
quarters.  The  guards  were  tramping  their  meas* 
ured  beat  as  usual,  and  the  outer  line  of  pickets 


198        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE   BLANCHE. 

was  posted  beyond.  But  there  was  surcease  for  a 
time,  of  the  weary  marching  and  fighting  that  had 
been  going  on  now  for  two  years  and  more.  The 
scanty  rations  could  be  cooked  and  eaten  in 
peace  ;  the  thin  pallets  were  spread  down  at  night 
without  anticipation  of  a  sudden  arousing  drum- 
beat and  a  ringing  order  to  "  fall  in  "  at  midnight ; 
letters  home  were  written  (on  the  backs  of  old 
envelopes  and  scraps  of  wall  paper ! )  without  a 
continual  ducking  and  dodging  to  avoid  falling 
shells;  the  men,  idle  around  their  cheery  fires, 
fought  their  battles  over,  and  told  over  and  over 
their  worn-out  jokes  and  stories ;  or,  oftener, 
talked  of  the  far-away  loved  ones  whose  unforgot- 
ten  faces  filled  their  waking  and  sleeping  dreams. 

"  What's  that  about  Rose  Blanche,  Tom  ? "  said 
a  voice  out  in  the  shadow  as  Sergeant  Dennison 
paused  to  rake  together  some  falling  embers. 

"  Hello,  Nagle  ! "  chorused  the  whole  group 
heartily;  "come  in,  Sid,  come  in,  old  fellow"  —  a 
needless  invitation  since  the  owner  of  the  voice 
had  promptly  followed  it  and  dropped  unceremo- 
niously upon  an  unappropriated  blanket. 


A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST.  199 

"What  were  you  saying  about  La  Rose  Blanche, 
Tom  ? "  he  repeated,  reaching  out  for  a  coal  and 
balancing  it  carefully  upon  his  pipe. 

"  I  was  just  telling  these  cold-blooded  Virginia 
fellows,"  replied  Tom,  "  that  snowed  up  as  we  are 
here  —  in  these  mountains,  down  in  our  country  the 
spring-sap  is  rising ;  and  around  one  plantation 
that  we  know  —  eh,  Sid !  there  are  miles  of  Chero- 
kee-rose hedges  that  just  about  now  are  all  white 
with  buds  and  flowers." 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Sid. 

"  But  that's  not  the  reason  they  call  it  La  Rose 
Blanche,"  added  Tom.  "  You  know  my  mother  was 
born  in  that  dear  old  house  and  she  knows  all  its 
traditions!  They  have  a  pretty  story  that  goes 
away  back  to  the  early  days  of  the  first  white 
settlers,  about  the  finding  of  a  pale-face  baby-girl 
by  an  old  Indian  chief.  She  lay  cooing  and  laugh- 
ing on  her  dead  mother's  breast  in  the  lone  little 
cabin  that  stood  just  where  the  plantation-house 
now  stands ;  and  a  few  rods  away  her  father  was 
lying  face-downward  with  a  bullet  hole  in  his  fore- 
head. The  old  chief  took  the  baby  into  his  own 


200        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

wigwam  and  gave  her  a  name  whose  liquid  sylla- 
bles meant  in  our  tongue  The  White  Rose.  The 
story  goes  on  to  tell  how  she  grew  up  the  joy  of 
the  old  chief,  her  adopted  father,  and  the  delight 
of  the  tribe.  Then  came  along,  somehow,  a  young 
French  officer  who  wooed  and  won  and  carried 
away  La  Rose  Blanche  from  the  mourning  tribe. 
At  least  that  is  the  gist  of  the  legend.  At  home, 
even  little  Ma'y  has  it  all  at  her  fingers'  ends." 

"  Wa'al ! "  drawled  a  huge  red-bearded  fellow 
at  the  other  side  of  the  fire  who  was  busily  carving 
from  a  bit  of  polished  bone  a  tiny  high-heeled  slip- 
per, "  I  hain't  got  much  senty-mint  'bout  the  Injuns, 
an'  I  don't  keer  much  'bout  roses,  but  I  do  wisht  I 
had  some  o'  them  sugar-house  merlasses  they  make 
down  thar,  stidder  the  sorghum  the  Corn-fed  Gov'- 
mint  g'ves  us  !  " 

"  And  over  at  Bon  Soldat,"  pursued  Tom,  taking 
up  his  interrupted  story,  "  there's  a  double  row  of 
red  and  white  oleanders  that  —  do  you  see  that, 
boys  ?  that  chap  has  gone  again  !  " 

The  visitor  looked  up  startled  by  the  sudden 
break  in  Tom's  harangue  and  at  the  altered  tone. 


\'   - 

K 


"I 


A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST. 


203 


"Who  is  gone?  What  is  it?"  he  demanded, 
looking  around  bewildered. 

"  Oh,  nothing  ! "  replied  Tom,  still  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hand  and  peering  out  into  the  shad- 
ows beyond  the  firelight.  "  Or  rather,"  he  added, 
sinking  back  upon  his  pile  of  blankets  and  return- 
ing his  pipe  to  his  lips,  "  it's  that  boy.  Come  to 
think  of  it,  Sid,  he's  your  cousin,  and  —  " 

"Wes  Branscome?  Yes.  Well,  what  of  him? 
Where  is  he,  by  the  way  ?  He  was  here  when  I 
came  in !  However,  I  reckon  he  has  gone  over 
to  my  mess.  The  boys  are  having  some  kind  of 
a  shindy  over  there.  His  cousins,  Tom  and 
Hart,  are  there  with  their  body-servants.  Listen  ! 
There's  Virg  and  Dandy  singing  now ! " 

On  the  still  night  air  came  the  lugubrious 
refrain  : 

"  De  Lawd  d'liver  Dan-jw// 


From  de  lion  den. 
De  Lawd  d'liver  Dan-y«/7 
An'  de  same  Lawd  gwine  d'liver  me  tool  n 

"  How  that  does  take  me  back  to  Rose  Blanche," 


204         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

mused  Tom  a  little  wistfully.  "  No,  he's  not  over 
there,"  he  went  on  energetically.  You  know,  Nagle, 
I  —  "  he  broke  off  abruptly  and  colored  a  little. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  are  going  to  marry  his  sister 
—  and  a  mighty  pretty  girl  my  cousin  Nell  is  too," 
responded  his  friend  tranquilly.  "  But  what  is  the 
matter  with  Wes  ?  " 

"The  truth  is,"  said  Tom,  "none  of  those  Rose 
Blanche  boys  have  got  any  business  in  the  army  ! 
Tom,  perhaps;  he  is  a  stout  sturdy  lad,  but  Wes- 
ley and  Hart  when  they  first  came,  looked  like  a 
couple  of  girls  with  their  rosy  cheeks  and  yellow 
curls  —  " 

"  Look  enough  like  girls  yet ! "  interpolated 
Jack  Winter  from  his  pallet  in  the  tent. 

"Well,  when  Wesley  came  on  the  first  batch  of 
recruits,  Aunt  Lu  —  his  aunt  wrote  me  a  letter 
and  put  the  boy  in  my  charge.  Said  I  was  to  look 
after  his  morals  too,  don't  you  know  ?  And  some- 
how I  can't  help  feeling  responsible  for  the  little 
chap,  good-conduct  and  all ! "  and  Tom  sighed. 
"  He's  a  plucky  boy,  and  no  mistake.  Never 
flinched  even  under  his  first  fire.  I  have  fairly 


A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST.  205 

to  hold  him  back  sometimes  !  A  real  straight-up- 
and-down  little  man  every  way.  But  since  we've 
been  in  camp  here  — six  weeks  almost,  you  know, 
he  has  slipped  out  quietly  nearly  every  night  about 
this  time ;  and  two  or  three  hours  later,  he  steals 
in  again.  Never  says  where  he's  been  ;  even  his 
cousins  don't  know;  gets  past  the  guards  some- 
how ;  and  well,  I'm  mightily  concerned  to  know 
where  he  is  spending  his  time,  that's  all !  " 

"Rustic  sweetheart,"  suggested  Nagle  senten- 
tiously. 

"May  be  so,"  replied  Tom,  gazing  into  the  fire. 

"  Anyhow,"  growled  Winter,  "  the  little  chap  is 
so  awfully  sneaky  about  it !  " 

"We've  all  chaffed  him  a  good  deal,"  Dennison 
went  on.  "But  he  does  not  seem  to  care,  and  I 
am  afraid  —  fact  is,  Sid,  I  am  worried  and  anxious 
about  the  boy  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"Tell  you  what,"  replied  his  friend  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence,  "we'll  follow  him  and  find  out 
what  he  is  up  to.  That  is  '  sneaky '  too,"  he  added 
with  a  laugh,  "  but  you  owe  it  to  Aunt  Lucy  —  and 
Nell." 


206         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

"  Done  !  "  said  Tom,  blushing  again. 

The  next  night  was  raw  and  dark.  The  snow 
which  had  lain  for  days  frozen  hard  upon  the 
ground  had  turned  to  a  cold  and  disagreeable 
slush ;  and  the  wind  a£  it  swept  down  from  the 
mountain-tops  was  charged  with  fine  points  of 
sleet  that  stung  like  needles  when  they  struck  the 
faces  of  the  guards  moving  silently  back  and  forth 
on  their  boats.  Sergeant  Dennison  and  Private 
Nagle  marched  forward  along  the  lonely  winding 
road  that  struck  off  toward  the  foot-hills  of  the 
gigantic  mountain  that  frowned  away  to  the  left, 
and  down  which  the  slender  form  in  front  of  them 
had  turned  after  leaving  the  camp  well  behind. 
Nowadays  a  boy  of  sixteen  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  his  cap  pulled  down  upon  his  fore- 
head, trudging  alone  along  a  dark  and  lonesome 
road,  would  be  whistling  gayly  to  keep  himself 
company ;  but  in  those  times  when  the  next  turn- 
ing might  show  a  phalanx  of  blue-coats,  or  from 
the  next  clump  of  bushes  might  come  the  crack 
of  a  rifle,  men  and  boys  learned  silence  and  watch- 
fulness. So,  one  shadow  went  warily  between 


A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST.  207 

the  naked  trees  where  the  wind  shrieked;  and 
two  other  shadows  followed  noiselessly,  now  stop- 
ping lest  they  should  be  seen  or  heard,  now  hurry- 
ing lest  they  should  lose  sight  of  the  unconscious 
object  of  their  curiosity. 

It  was  nearly  two  miles  from  camp  when  Wesley 
Branscome  turned  abruptly  to  the  left  and  disap- 
peared. The  two  men  who  were  following  him 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  wide  ravine  just  in  time 
to  see  him  spring  up  a  little  wind-swept  ridge, 
upon  which,  dimly  outlined  against  the  cloudy 
sky,  stood  a  small  low  cabin.  From  the  door,  as 
the  lad  opened  it,  a  ruddy  glare  came  pouring  out, 
illuminating  the  rocky  slope  where  the  snow  lay 
in  patches,  and  flashing  down  upon  the  muddy 
waters  of  the  little  stream  that  rushed  noisily  along 
the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  It  was  gone  immedi- 
ately, for  the  door  closed  with  a  bang ;  but  beneath 
the  clumsy  wooden  shutter  of  the  single  window  a 
line  of  light  gleamed,  and  after  waiting  some  mo- 
ments the  two  spies  crept  softly  up  the  ridge  and 
applied  their  eyes  to  this  crack. 

It  afforded  them  a  full  view  of  the  interior  of 


208        IN    WARTIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

the  one  room  of  the  little  hut.  There  was  no  light 
except  that  from  the  fire  blazing  in  the  wide  fire- 
place, but  that  sufficed  to  show  the  clumsy  loom 
in  one  corner  with  an  unfinished  piece  of  dark 
cloth  upon  it,  and  the  ample  feather-bed,  with  blue 
coverlid  and  white  pillows  on  the  rude  bedstead,  in 
the  other.  A  rickety  ladder  between  them  led  up 
to  a  hole  in  the  low  rough  ceiling.  On  one  of  its 
rounds  squatted  a  great  reddish-brown  rooster, 
with  his  head  under  his  wing.  His  feathers  glis- 
tened in  the  firelight.  Bunches  of  herbs,  strings 
of  red  pepper  and  "  hanks  "  of  bluish  yarn  hung 
against  the  walls,  and  a  pine  table  with  a  few 
homely  blue  dishes  upon  it  was  set  squarely  across 
the  door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room.  On  a 
low  chair  in  a  corner  of  the  vast  fireplace  sat  an 
old  woman  with  snow-white  hair  and  lean  wrinkled 
face.  She  was  carding  wool.  A  pile  of  fleecy  rolls 
lay  on  the  floor  beside  her,  so  delicate  and  sym- 
metrical that  it  was  a  wonder  how  the  feeble  old 
hands  and  the  well-worn  cards  could  have  wrought 
them. 

Directly  in  front  of  the  fire  stood  a  tall  thin- 


A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST.  209 

legged  spinning-wheel.  From  this  came  a  loud 
monotonous  whiz-z-bur-r-r,  and  a  regular  click,  click, 
as  the  spinning-stick  struck  the  flying  spokes. 
Wesley  Branscome  was  the  spinner.  He  had 
thrown  off  his  heavy  over-coat  and  his  cap.  His 
yellow  curls  shone  as  he  stepped  forward  —  a  trim, 
slight,  boyish  figure  in  a  faded  grey  jacket  and 
ragged  trousers  —  forward  and  backward  and  for- 
ward again  —  deftly  lengthening  out  the  roll  and 
running  the  thread  upon  the  spindle  ;  then  catch- 
ing a  fresh  roll  from  the  pile  on  a  chair  beside  him 
to  add  it  in  turn  to  the  fast-growing  white  cone. 

For  a  time  there  was  no  sound  in  the  room  but 
this  whiz-z,  bur-r-r,  click,  click  and  the  measured  one, 
two,  forward,  and  one,  two,  three,  backward  step 
of  the  boy,  and  the  soft  scratch,  scratch,  of  the  old 
woman's  cards. 

Dennison  outside,  turned  wondering  eyes  upon 
his  companion,  who  nudged  him  with  his  elbow 
and  gave  a  meaning  look  at  the  ladder. 

Of  course  !  Down  that  shaky  stair  would  pres- 
ently descend  the  buxom  Omphale  for  whose  sake 
this  young  Hercules  was  spinning. 


210         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

Hard  upon  the  smiles  which  overspread  the 
faces  of  the  watchers  at  this  conclusion,  the  old 
woman  laid  down  her  cards  and  began  poking 
among  the  glowing  embers  with  a  bit  of  stick. 

"  Wessy,"  she  said,  in  a  thin,  sweet  quavering 
voice,  "  I've  got  some  taters  a-roastin'  fer  ye." 

"Oh-h!  haveyavil"  cried  the  young  soldier  in 
a  tone  of  boyish  rapture,  stopping  his  wheel  and 
going  down  on  his  knees  on  the  broken  hearth. 

"  D'  you  reckon  they're  done,  Granny  ?  Let  me 
take  'em  out."  He  shaded  his  eyes  with  one 
hand  and  raked  out  a  couple  of  enormous  ash- 
covered  yams.  At  the  savory  odor  that  came 
floating  through  the  crack  as  he  laid  them  open, 
Tom  Dennison  and  his  companion  hardly  re- 
strained a  groan  of  envy. 

"  M-m-m  !  but  they're  nice  !  Have  some,  Gran- 
ny." He  was  squatted  upon  his  heels  before  her, 
and  she  leaned  over  and  patted  his  shoulder  with 
a  loving  old  wrinkled  hand. 

"  No,  chile,  I  don't  want  none.  I'm  jes  power- 
ful glad  to  see  you  eaten  of  'em  —  I  hain't 
cyarded  much  ter-day,"  she  added  presently. 


A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST.  211 

"  Been  weavin'  ? "  asked  Wesley,  with  a  back- 
ward glance  at  the  same  time  over  his  shoulder 
at  the  loom. 

"No;  settin'  the  dye  fer  them  las'  hanks. 
Like  ter  froze  my  han's  off.  But  we  mos'  done, 
Wessy." 

He  nodded. 

"  Lor,  how  proud  Bigy  an'  Jim  '11  be !  Hit's 
been  nigh  about  five  weeks,  hain't  it,  Wessy?" 
said  Granny. 

He  nodded  again,  munching  his  potato. 

"I  hed  come  home  from  my  Liddy's  fu'nal  an' 
was  a-settin'  here  with  the  do'  shot  to,  wonderin' 
how  them  boys  o'  hern,  'way  off  yander  in  Com- 
p'ny  G.  were  gwine  ter  git  the  cloze  she'd  prom- 
ised 'im,  an'  rit  an'  rit  ter  'em  about ;  an'  me  with 
all  the  wool  in  the  house,  an'  nobody  to  he'p  me. 
An'  you  come  jumpin'  the  fence  ter  git  er  drink 
o'  water — " 

A  sly  twinkle  came  into  the  old  soul's  watery 
eyes  as  she  uttered  the  last  sentence. 

The  lad  laughed. 

"Now,  Granny,"   he  said,   "you   know  I   was 


212         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

runnin'  your  red  rooster!  I  didn't  know  any- 
body was  in  the  house." 

"  He's  gettin'  mighty  fat,"  she  replied,  following 
his  glance  over  toward  the  ladder.  "We-uns  is 
gwine  ter  have  him  biled  the  night  we  git  the  las' 
hank  spun." 

"Oh,  I  wish  we  could  heve  a  chicken-pie, 
Granny  —  an'  dumplin's  !  " 

"Wa-al,  mebby  we  kin  somehow.  An'  I  tole 
you  'bout  Liddy  an'  them  boys  o'  hern  in  Com- 
p'ny  G.,  an'  ez  how  I  wanted  ter  make  the  cloze 
she  were  so  sot  on  makin'  fer  'em.  An'  you 
'lowed  that  ef  I'd  larn  you  ter  spin  you'd,  he'p  me 
make  'em."  Another  nod  from  the  boy.  They 
were  evidently  rehearsing  an  oft-repeated  scene. 

"Granny,"  he  said,  suddenly  springing  up  and 
looking  down  at  her  with  a  quizzical  expression, 
"  what  do  you  suppose  the  boys  in  camp  think  ? 
They  think  that  I  come  out  every  night  to  see 
—  my  sweetheart,"  and  a  peal  of  laughter  rang 
through  the  cabin,  waking  the  fat  rooster,  who  un- 
covered his  head,  flapped  his  wings,  and  uttered 
a  hoarse  crow. 


A  SOLDIER'S  TRYST.  213 

"  Shucks,  you  don't  say,"  cried  the  old  dame, 
turning  a  smiling  wrinkled  face  up  toward 
him. 

"That  they  do,"  and  he  broke  into  a  shuffling 
dance  to  the  tune  of  "  The  Years  Creep  Slowly  By, 
Lorena"  whistled  in  quick  time. 

After  which  he  caught  up  the  spinning-stick  in 
one  hand,  and  a  fleecy  roll  in  the  other,  and  the 
whiz-z,  bur-r,  click,  click,  one,  two,  forward,  one, 
two,  three,  backward  step  began  again. 

The  gentle  scratch,  scratch,  of  the  cards  chimed 
in,  and  soothed  by  these  familiar  sounds  the  red 
rooster  stuck  his  head  under  his  wing  again  and 
went  to  sleep. 

During  this  scene  the  men  outside  had  not  dared 
to  move,  fearing  to  betray  themselves.  As  soon, 
however,  as  the  noise  of  the  wheel  filled  the  air, 
they  stole  stealthily  down  the  slope,  and  around 
the  projecting  mountain-spur,  and  so  out  into  the 
slush-covered  road  again. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  between  them  until 
they  had  slipped  past  the  guards  and  were  near- 
ing  the  camp-fires. 


214        IN   WAR-TIMES   AT   LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

Then  Sergeant  Dennison  paused  long  enough 
to  say : 

"  Say,  Sid,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  caught  steal- 
ing a  sheep !  —  or  rather,  I  ought  perhaps  to  say 
as  I  would  have  felt  before  the  war  began  if  I  had 
been  caught  stealing  a  sheep  !  " 

Private  Nagle  broke  into  a  queer  little  laugh. 
"Just  imagine  how  you  would  have  felt  if  that 
blessed  pair  of  innocents  had  caught  you 
sneaking  around  that  crack  in  the  window,"  he 
said. 

"And  I  tell  you  what,  boys,"  concluded  the 
sergeant,  after  giving  an  account  of  the  adventure 
to  his  mess,  "you  can  have  my"  —  he  was  about 
to  say  hat,  but  recollecting  himself,  he  took  off  his 
shabby  cap,  looked  at  it  affectionately  and  re- 
turned it  to  his  head  with  a  comical  sigh,  as  if  he 
found  it  impossible  to  do  the  subject  justice. 

More  than  a  year  later,  a  letter,  worn  and  soiled, 
and  dilapidated  with  travelling  after  the  army,  at 
length  reached  the  company  to  one  of  whose 
members  it  was  addressed.  "  Wessy  Brancekum, 
Seldun  Ryefls,"  it  declared  in  a  big  scrawly  hand. 


A   SOLDIERS   TRYST.  215 

Captain  Dennison's  hands  trembled  as  he  took  it. 
For  Wesley  Branscome  was  sleeping  the  long 
sleep  in  his  unnamed  grave  on  the  fatal  field  of 
Gettysburg. 

Dere  Wessy,  [it  ran,]  Bigy  an*  Jim  got  thare  cloze,  but  my  teg 
•were  shot  off  at  Gettysburg  an'  S'm  back  with  Granny.  Jim 
is  ritin'  this  letter  fer  me.  Grany  sens  yu  her  luv  an  air 
mity  prowd  uv  the  kyards.  She  sez  bee  shore  an'  kum  by  this 
•way  when  the  Yanks  is  whipt  an'  yu  lite  out  fer  home  so  no 
more 

f rum  Jim  Cager 


CHAPTER    XL 

OUR   AFRICAN    PRINCESS. 

THE  orange-flower  petals   were   falling   like 
flakes  of  perfumed  snow  upon  clean,  white 
sheets  spread  underneath  the  trees  in  the  planta- 
tion to  receive  them.     And  in  the  kitchen,  the 

orange-flower  water,  and  the  still  more  delicate 

n 

orange-flower  conserve  were  in  process  of  making. 
Now,  this  was  in  some  sort  a  high  and  myste- 
rious rite  at  La  Rose  Blanche.  Mere  could  never 
be  persuaded  that  mother  knew  just  how  thick 
the  syrup  out  to  be,  or  precisely  the  quantity  of 
flowers  necessary  to  produce  the  flavor.  And  so 
she  came  up  every  spring  from  River-View,  ac- 
companied by  old  Justine,  and  armed  with  her 
home-made,  time-yellowed,  Creole  recipe  book. 
On  such  occasions  Hester,  the  cook,  cleared  out 
of  the  kitchen  with  a  snort,  and  a  muttered  fling  at 
216 


OUR    AFRICAN    PRINCESS.  217 

"dem  French  doin's."  And  with  her  own  small, 
plump,  white  hands,  Mere  sorted  out  the  thick, 
waxen,  sweet-smelling  leaves  and  dropped  them 
one  by  one  into  the  clear  bubbling  syrup.  Justine 
meanwhile  washed  and  rinsed  dozens  of  tall,  long- 
necked  bottles  and  placed  them  in  shining  rows 
out  on  a  table  in  the  sun  to  dry.  Cousin  Nellie, 
as  a  great  privilege  and  on  condition  of  keeping 
quite  still,  was  allowed  to  sit  on  the  broad,  low 
window-sill  and  cut  out  and  twist  into  shape  the 
funny  little  paper  boats  in  which  the  dainty  con- 
serve would  be  served.  Now  and  again  mother 
would  come  to  the  door  with  a  tray  piled  high  with 
fresh  petals  ;  these  Mere  would  take  from  her  in 
impressive  silence  and  empty  upon  a  vast  silver 
salver  which  she  always  used  at  this  august  cere- 
monial. 

But  we  children  were  banished.  Not  for  worlds 
would  we  have  ventured  within  reach  of  Mere's 
threatening  spoon  and  her  stern  and  emphatic 
"  Allez-vous-en,  mes  enfants  !  " 

But  oh,  what  joy,  after  the  bottles  had  been 
filled  and  sealed  and  left  standing  to  cool,  and  the 


2l8        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

flat,  wide-mouthed  glass  jars  with  their  translucent 
contents  were  ranged  upon  the  closet-shelves  — 
what  joy  to  be  called  up  and  receive,  each  from 
Mere's  own  hands,  one  of  those  quaint  little 
paper-boats  filled  to  the  brim  with  the  warm,  fra- 
grant conserve;  and  to  hie  away  with  them  to 
Mammy's  cabin,  there  to  beg  a  bit  of  cake  (or 
cone-pone !)  and  play  "  party  "  on  her  doorstep. 

But  that  blissful  moment  had  not  yet  arrived  on 
this  occasion. 

It  was  the  next  day  after  brother  Hart's  long- 
delayed  letter  from  the  front  had  come  ;  and  such 
a  soft,  sunshiny,  flower-sweet  day !  Old  Aunt 
Rose  had  brought  her  troop  of  babies  over  from 
the  Quarter  to  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house. 
They  were  playing  there,  tumbling  about  in  the 
long  grass  like  so  many  little  brown  elves.  Aunt 
Hester's  little  Chittowee,  with  a  crown  of  yellow 
jessamine  on  her  head,  and  her  eerie  black  face 
peeping  out  from  a  collar  of  woodbine  and  honey- 
suckle, was  leading  them  like  an  elfin  queen  in 
their  noisy  revels.  Aunt  Rose  herself  sat  stiffly 
erect  on  a  bench  by  the  hedge.  Her  well-seasoned 


OUR   AFRICAN    PRINCESS.  219 

switch  lay  across  her  lap.  Her  elbows  were 
pressed  against  her  sides  ;  her  long,  bony  hands 
were  laid,  palm  downward,  upon  her  knees ;  her 
feet  showing  below  her  scant  homespun  skirts, 
were  drawn  closely  together.  Her  attitude  sug- 
gested that  rock-cut  statue  of  the  old  Egyptian 
Queen  in  her  ruined  temple,  whose  picture  father 
had  brought  home  from  Egypt,  and  which  hung 
over  his  study-table. 

Her  deep-set  eyes,  under  their  bristling  white 
eyebrows,  had  a  dreamy,  far-away  look. 

Little  Percy  had  left  off  playing  and  was  lean- 
ing against  her  knee.  He  stroked  her  tattooed 
wrists  with  his  soft  fingers.  "Who  hurted  you, 
Aunt  Wose  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly,  lifting  his  blue 
eyes  earnestly  to  her  face. 

She  looked  down  at  him  in  her  strange  un- 
smiling way,  without  replying,  and  then  her  gaze 
wandered  vaguely  on  toward  the  orange-plantation 
where  we  could  see  mother  moving  along  between 
the  trees,  stooping  here  and  there  to  gather  the 
fallen  flower  petals.  Her  lean  leathery  old  face 
brightened ;  it  seemed  almost  to  shine.  She 


22O         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

always  looked  like  that  whenever  she  saw  mother. 

We  seized  the  moment,  knowing  it  to  be  a  favor- 
able one,  and  began  to  beg : 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Rose,  tell  us  about  when  you  was  a 
Princess  ! " 

"  When  you  was  a  Afercan  Princess,  you  know," 
besought  Charley. 

"  An'  when  you  was  capshu'd  !     Please,  Aunt 
Rose,  please  !  " 

She  began  abruptly,  her  dreamy  eyes  still  fol- 
lowing mother  about  the  orange-grove.  That  was 
always  her  way  when  she  could  be  induced  to  tell 
her  story  at  all,  which  was  but  rarely.  Her  speech 
was  almost  like  that  of  our  other  home-negroes, 
though  Uncle  Silas,  her  brother,  the  African 
Prince  who  belonged  to  Grandpa  Selden,  had  a 
curious  broken  language  of  his  own  which  was 
almost  unintelligible.  But  her  voice  was  strangely 
hollow  and  monotonous  ;  and  when  excited  by  the 
memory  of  her  wrongs  she  became  almost  terrible. 
At  such  times  her  deep  eyes  glittered  with  an  un- 
canny light,  and  a  dark  red  spot  glowed  in  either 
hollow  of  her  tawny,  sunken  cheeks. 


OUR   AFRICAN    PRINCESS.  221 

"  Yass,  I  is  done  been  Prin-cess.  An'  I  is  Prin- 
cess  yit,"  she  added,  almost  ferociously.  "  I  is 
bo'n  er  King's  dotter.  Dey  uz  er  gran'  town  in 
my  country  ;  an'  de  pipple  uz  lak  de  cane  what 
wave  in  de  cane-fieP,  dey  uz  so  many !  An'  in  dat 
town  dey  uz  er  gret-house  mo'  bigger'n  Missy's 
gret-house  yonner." 

"  She  mean  yo'  maw  when  she  say  Missy  ;  she 
al'uz  call  Mis'  Lucy,  Missy,"  explained  Mandy, 
who  was  sitting  at  the  other  end  of  the  bench 
pretending  to  knit. 

"  An'  de  gret-house  uz  in  de  middle  o'  all  de 
yuther  houses  ;  an'  it  had  high  trees  wid  leaf  lak 
bunches  o'  fedders  on  top,*  all  roun'  it ;  an'  dat 
us  de  King's  house.  De  King  he  Silas  an'  me 
fader.  On'y  Silas  not  name  Silas  den,  same  ez  I 
not  name  Rose  den.  Silas  he  uz  Prince  Limpopo ; 
an'  I  uz  Prin^r  Ghargal.  I  got  oder  Prince, 
whar  uz  big  Chief  fur  hus-ban' ;  an'  got  five 
chillun  ;  five  li'l  brown  gal,  mo'  prettier  dan  any 
o'  dese  here  nigger-babies,"  she  turned  her  eyes 
contemptuously  for  a  moment  upon  the  noisy 
brood  at  her  feet. 

•  Palm-tree*. 


222         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

"  An'  dey  uz  er  thousan'  nigger  stannin'  roun' 
de  King's  gret-house  fur  to  do  we  wu'k  an'  fur  ter 
mek  granjure.  An'  when  me  an'  de  five  li'l  gal  is 
walk  out,  dey  uz  nigger  walk  long  fur  ter  tote  de 
pya'-sol  an'  de  big  fan.  I  is  had  de  dress  all 
made  out'n  dem  kind  of  fedders  whar  used  to 
be  in  Missy  bonnit.  An'  dem  di'mons  whar  Missy 
used  ter  war  in  de  good  times  fo'  de  wah,  dey  ain' 
nuttin  ter  dem  di'mons  whar  I  is  wore  roun'  my 
wase  lak  ropes.  An'  dese  here  marks  is  de  marks 
o'  African  Princess."  Aunt  Rose  touched  with  an 
air  of  pride  the  tattoo-marks  on  her  forehead, 
neck  and  arms. 

"  Dey  uz  plenty  o1  wah  in  my  country,  but  not  lak 
dis  wah.  Dey  fight  heap  mo'  braver,  an'  dey  tek 
de  women  un  de  chillun  un'  ca'y  'em  off  an'  mek 
'em  slave.  Dat  de  way  we  git  we  slave  too.  But 
de  King,  we  fader,  he  big  Chief  an'  he  don't 
nebber  git  whup.  All  de  gret-house  shine  wid  de 
gole  whar  he  done  brung  fum  de  fur-off  country. 
Oh,  we  all  happy  den,  an'  I  uz  proud  Princess  wid 
dem  five  li'l  brown  gal ! 

"  One   day,  dey   uz   er  battle.     Er  big   black 


OUR   AFRICAN    PRINCESS.  223 

Chief  whar  come  fum  yuther  side  er  de  mountain, 
he  bu'n  up  de  gret-house,  an'  done  tuk  an'  ca'y 
off  de  King  whar  uz  Silas  an'  me  fader;  an'  he 
ca'y  off  Silas  an'  me,  an'  heap  mo'  fighting  men 
an'  lakly  women.  But  he  done  kill  de  Prince 
whar  uz  my  hus-ban',  an'  he  lef  terhine  all  dem 
lrl  brown  gal." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Rose,"  we  sighed  under  our  breath. 

"  An'  I  ain'  nebber  seen  'em  no  mo'."  Her 
voice  rose  to  a  shrill  cry  and  her  body  swayed 
slowly  from  side  to  side.  "  Nebber  no  mo',"  she 
repeated  and  then  dropped  into  sudden  silence. 

We  held  each  other's  hands  and  hardly  stirred 
until  she  began  again. 

"  We  is  trabbel  five  days,  an'  mos'  six,  an'  den 
we  done  come  ter  de  big  water.  An'  dey  uz  er  boat 
whar  uz  so  big  dat  it  mek  us  'feard.  De  big  black 
Chief  whar  brung  us,  he  done  sell  us  ter  de  Cap'n 
er  de  big  boat  an'  den  we  his  slave.  Dey  uz  heap 
er  yuther  nigger  in  de  boat  an'  dey  done  crowd  us 
in  ;  an'  we  uz  down  in  er  dark  hole  ;  but  we  Vkeve 
we  kin  see  de  Ian'  whar  we  leavin'  terhine  us ;  an' 
de  trees  whar  got  lak  er  bunch  er  fedders  on  top; 


224         IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

an'  de  li'l  ribber ;  an'  de  freedom,  an'  de  chil- 
lun,  oh  de  chillun  !  We  stretch  out  de  han's 
an'  cry,  while  the  boat  roll  high  lak  dis,  an'  den 
roll  low  lak  dat."  She  stood  up  and  dipped  for- 
ward until  the  bow  of  her  pointed  tignou  almost 
touched  the  grass,  and  then  arose  slowly  again  to 
her  full  height  with  her  arms  outstretched.  The 
red  flush  was  beginning  to  dawn  into  her  sunken 
cheeks. 

"  Den  de  King,  my  fader,  he  'fuse  ter  eat,  caze 
he  ain'  nebber  been  use  ter  bein'  slave.  An'  one 
day  he  say  he  gwine  die,  an'  he  heart  break,  an' 
he  done  die.  Den  I  fight  an'  den  dey  is  wrop  de 
chain  'roun  de  arms  o'  de  Prin-rm." 

We  shrank  back  half-afraid  before  the  menacing 
glow  in  her  eyes.  But  just  then  mother  went  past 
carrying  her  flower-piled  tray  to  the  kitchen,  and 
the  soft  look  came  back  into  old  Aunt  Rose's  face. 
She  sat  down  and  continued  : 

"  At  las'  one  day  dey  run  de  ship  up  er  yaller 
ribber  whar  dey  call  de  Bra-z-us,  an'  we  uz  tuk  out. 
An'  some  er  de  niggers  uz  lef  dar  but  me  an'  Silas 
we  uz  brung  in  er  'nur  boat  to  New-orl-eends.  An' 


OUR   AFRICAN    PRINCESS.  227 

we  uz  put  in  er  kine  er  place  whar  dey  call  de 
slave-pen,  'long  wid  er  heap  er  yuther  slave.  By 
dat  time  de  tears  er  my  eyes  dey  uz  all  dry-up,  an' 
de  heart  in  my  bres'  uz  lak  er  clod  fum  de  fiel' 
cep'n  fur  ter  hate, 

"  At  las'  one  day  we  uz  tuk  fum  de  slave-pen  an' 
dey  done  march  us  two  an'  two  long  de  streets 
er  New-orl-eends,  an'  close  up  ter  er  gret-house 
whar  gut  pos'es  lak  de  King  gret-house  whar  bu'n 
down." 

"  She  mean  de  Sain'  Charl'  Hotel  whar  yo'  paw 
and  maw  done  stay  dat  time  jes  fo'  de  wah,  when 
dey  tuk  me  wid  you  alls,"  interpreted  Mandy. 

"  An'  at  de  corner  we  bleege  ter  stop,  caze  dey 
uz  er  percession  in  de  way.  An'  jes'  den,  'long 
come  er  li'l  white  gal,  jes  so  big.  An'  she  lak  er 
angel,  on'y  den  I  did'n  know  nuttin'  'bout  no  angel. 
She  uz  wid  er  paw  an'  her  maw,  an'  she  done  see 
me,  an'  she  run  up  an'  pass  her  sof  li'l  han's  roun' 
dese  marks,  same  ez  de  chile  done  jes'  now.  She 
did'n  know  dem  marks  uz  de  marks  o'  er  Prirwm, 
but  she  done  see  de  trebble  whar  uz  in  my  face  I 
reckin',  caze  she  done  say  wu'ds  whar  uz  sof'-lak 


228        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT    LA   ROSE    BLANCHE. 

an'  sweet.  I  couldn't  un'erstan'  dem  wu'ds  den, 
but  I  done  un'erstan'  whar  uz  terhine  dem  wu'ds, 
an'  de  hard  heart  lak  a  clod  in  my  bres'  'gin  ter 
melt." 

"  She  mean  dat  she  done  bus'  out  cryin',"  said 
Mandy. 

"  An'  when  dey  fetch  me  ter  de  block  under  dat 
gret-house  fur  ter  be  sol',  lo  an'  behole,  dar  uz  dat 
li'l  white  gal  paw  done  come  ter  buy  me  caze  she 
done  ax  him  will  he  do  it !  An'  he  buy  me,  an' 
den  he  buy  de  Prince  my  br'ur  whar  not  name 
Silas  den" 

"  Dat  uz  yo'  grandpa  whar  got  de  wood  laig  dat 
buy  Aun'  Rose  an'  Unk'  Silas,"  said  Mandy. 

"  Den  he  gi'  me  ter  de  li'l  white  gal  an'  I  done 
feel  lak  Pnn-cess  once  mo'  when  dey  tuk  me  ter  de 
house  whar  dey  uz  niggers  stannin'  roun'  ter  do  de 
wuk'  an'  ter  wait  on  de  gret  pipple." 

"  Dat  uz  Fred'ric's  Marster's  house  whar  done 
been  kill  sence  de  wah  'gin,"  said  Mandy. 

"Dat  li'l  white  gal  she  uz  Missy.  I  is  seen  her 
grow  up  t'well  now  she  am  yo'  maw.  I  is  always 
b'long  ter  her,  an'  she  know  I  is  Prin-cess ;  an'  I 


OUR   AFRICAN    PRINCESS.  229 

ain'  never  been  feel  lak  slave  since  Missy  tech  me 
wid  dem  sof  li'l  fingers  !  I  is  aluz  been  kep' 
roun'  de  house  t'well  I  ax  Missy  fur  ter  let  me 
min'  de  babies,  caze  I  is  done  gittin'  ole,  an'  caze 
de  babies  mek  me  think  'bout  dem  five  li'l  brown 
gal  whar  I  ain'  nebber  gwine  to  see  no  mo'."  The 
sombre  look  came  again  into  Aunt  Rose's  eyes, 
but  the  curious  softening  was  in  her  voice  as  she 
concluded  :  "  Yass,  I  is  been  Prin-cess  in  Af'ica,  an' 
now  I  is  Missy's  Pr'm-cess.  An'  Missy,  she  li'l 
angel  when  she  so  big,  an'  she  angel  now  f" 

"  Dass  so,  jes  ez  sho'  ez  you  am  bawn  !  Dat  am 
er  fac'  'bout  Mis'  Lucy  sho1"  said  a  voice  a  little 
way  off.  It  was  Uncle  Joshua's.  He  had  a  spade 
in  his  hand  and  had  come  out  to  work  in  the  vio- 
let-beds that  bordered  the  walk.  He  nodded  at 
Aunt  Rose  who  had  settled  down  upon  her  bench 
again  with  the  far-away  look  on  her  face,  and 
stuck  his  spade  into  the  moist  brown  earth.  He 
began  to  sing  as  he  always  did  when  he  was  pot- 
tering about  mother's  flowers  : 

"  Possum  up  er  yum-stump,  coony  up  er  holler." 
We  ran  through  a  gap  in  the  hedge  and  came 


230        IN    WAR-TIMES   AT   LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

around  to  where  he  was.  "  Now,  chillun,  jis'  you 
keep  out'n  de  way  caze  dese  here  am  Mis'  Lucy's 
v?kts  an'  I  got  ter  be  pow'ful  keerful,  lessen  —  "  he 
paused,  for  there  came  the  unwonted  sound  of 
horses  feet  trampling  along  the  lane.  Two  men 
rode  up  to  the  gate  and  dismounted.  As  they 
came  in  we  saw  that  they  wore  blue  uniforms,  and 
a  moment  later  we  recognized  the  latter  one  whom 
we  had  seen  several  times  while  the  crevasse  was 
open  and  the  Yankee  soldiers  had  come  down  to 
help  rebuild  the  levee.  He  was  the  Colonel  of 
the  regiment  camped  above  the  bend  of  the  river. 
The  little  boys  ran  through  the  gap  in  the  hedge 
to  Aunt  Rose,  and  I  shrank  back  leaving  Uncle 
Joshua  to  go  forward  and  meet  them.  The  tall 
Colonel  stopped  when  he  came  up  to  Uncle  Joshua 
and  said  something  to  him  in  a  low  tone.  Uncle 
Joshua's  voice  in  reply  sounded  sharp  and  unnat- 
ural though  I  could  not  hear  what  he  said.  The 
officer  spoke  again  and  seemed  to  be  urging  some- 
thing ;  and  then  Uncle  Joshua  fell  upon  his  knees 
and  began  sobbing  and  rocking  himself  to  and 
fro.  "  Oh,"  I  heard  him  cry  as  if  half  beside,  him- 


OUR   AFRICAN    PRINCESS.  231 

self,  "  who  gwine  ter  tell  her !  I  cyant  tell  her ! 
Oh,  Lord,  whargive  an'  whar  tek  away,  hab  mussy 
on  her !  An'  on  de  chillun  !  Oh,  my  Marster  ! 
my  Marster !  " 

The  Colonel  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  irresolute 
and  perplexed  and  then  walked  on  slowly  toward 
the  house  followed  by  his  orderly.  He  carried  in 
his  hand  a  sheathed  sword  which  I  had  seen  him 
take  from  the  soldier  as  they  came  in  the  gateway. 
Once  he  turned  as  if  to  go  back.  A  quick  excla- 
mation broke  from  him  as  he  faced  around  again. 
For  there  in  the  walk  before  him  and  barring  his 
way  stood  mother.  She  had  come  through  the 
gap  in  the  hedge  followed  by  the  little  boys  who 
were  all  huddled  about  her.  She  was  deadly  pale 
and  her  great  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  officer's 
face  with  a  look  of  terror.  I  had  never  seen  fear 
on  her  brave  face  before  and  I  shivered  at  it  while 
I  wondered  what  it  meant. 

The  Colonel  uncovered  his  head  and  the  soldier 
after  a  moment's  hesitation  took  off  his  cap.  The 
weather-beaten  faces  of  the  men  were  almost  as 
pale  as  mother's  ! 


232         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

There  was  a  short  silence  ;  the  officer  seemed  to 
be  trying  to  find  a  way  to  begin  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  Madame,"  he  said  at  last,  "  a  messenger  corn- 
ing from  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  bearing 
letters  and  —  other  messages  for  this  neighborhood 
has  been  captured  by  some  of  my  men.  A  num- 
ber of  the  letters  he  carried  were  old  —  some  of 
them  had  been  drifting  about  for  months.  But 
one  among  them  was  of  late  date  and  contained 
the  news  of — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly  and  turned  away  as  if 
unable  to  bear  the  look  in  the  eyes  gazing  into 
his.  His  glance  fell  upon  little  Percy.  He 
stooped  and  bent  one  knee  to  the  ground  and 
drew  the  child  gently  to  him.  "  My  son,"  he  said, 
putting  the  sword  into  the  small  hands  and  clos- 
ing them  upon  it,  "  give  this  to  your  mother  and 
tell  her  that  it  was  the  sword  of  a  brave  and  hon- 
orable man  who  died  a  gallant  death  on  the  battle- 
field." The  empty  tray  she  was  holding  dropped 
from  mother's  hand  and  a  low  cry  escaped  from 
her  blanched  lips.  "  Tell  her  —  "  but  a  tear 
splashed  down  upon  the  little  upturned  face.  He 


OUR   AFRICAN    PRINCESS.  233 

laid  a  hand  caressingly  upon  the  yellow  curls  and 
rose  to  his  feet.  He  thrust  a  letter  into  the  hands 
of  one  of  the  other  children  and  without  another 
word  he  hurried  off  down  the  walk ;  the  soldier 
followed,  and  a  moment  later  they  were  galloping 
along  the  lane  toward  the  river. 

I  think  none  of  us  really  understood  until  little 
Percy  went  up  to  mother  and  began  in  his  childish 
way  to  repeat  what  the  officer  had  said.  But  when 
with  one  great  sob  she  stooped  and  lifted  him  in 
her  arms  with  father's  sword  hugged  to  his  breast 
—  oh,  then,  we  all  knew  ! 

Father  had  been  killed  ten  days  before  at  the 
head  of  his  men  while  leading  a  charge  ;  and  he 
had  been  buried  on  the  battle-field. 

That  night,  long  after  even  dear  faithful  Mammy, 
and  Uncle  Joshua,  who  seemed  dazed  by  the  blow, 
had  gone  to  their  cabin  and  all  the  house  was  still, 
except  for  an  occasional  moan  from  the  couch 
where  mother  was  lying,  I  heard  a  slight  sound 
outside  the  door.  I  had  been  asleep,  but  had 
awakened  and  was  vainly  trying  to  picture  father 
lying  on  the  ground  with  his  face  upturned  to  the 


234         IN    WAR-TIMES    AT    LA    ROSE    BLANCHE. 

sky  and  his  arm  thrown  above  his  head,  and  a  dull 
red  stain  on  his  breast  and  on  the  grass  beside 
him,  as  I  had  seen  the  dead  Yankee  soldier-lad 
lying,  down  by  the  play-house  that  never-forgotten 
morning. 

I  crept  softly  out  of  bed  for  fear  of  disturbing 
mother,  and  went  over  to  the  door. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  I  asked  in  a  loud  whisper. 

A  voice  so  low  and  sweet  that  I  could  hardly 
believe  it  to  be  old  Aunt  Rose's  voice  replied  : 

*'  It  de  Missy's  Prin-rm." 

I  pushed  open  the  door  and  looked  out.  It  was 
old  Aunt  Rose.  The  moonlight  flooded  the  long 
cold  hall  and  streamed  over  her  sitting  in  a  high- 
backed  chair  close  by  the  door.  Her  turbaned 
head  was  held  stiffly  erect.  Her  hands  were  laid 
palm-downward  upon  her  knees ;  her  elbows  were 
pressed  against  her  sides  and  her  feet  were  drawn 
together. 

"  I'se  watchin'  an'  waitin',"  she  whispered,  "  caze 
yer  knows,  li'l  Miss  Ma'y,  dat  Missy  might  wan' 
sumpin'  in  de  night,  an'  den,  here  me,  ready" 


CHAPTER    XII. 

"  PO'-SOULS." 

IT  was  a  long  month  since  Lee  had  surrendered 
the  remnant  of  his  army  to  General  Grant  at 
Appomattox  Court-House. 

At  first  a  kind  of  lonely  stillness  had  settled 
over  the  country,  as  if  everything  had  suddenly 
come  to  an  end.  Crowds  of  black-robed  women, 
indeed,  with  white  faces  and  tearless  eyes,  stole 
every  morning  into  our  little  church  down  at  the 
landing,  to  pray;  and  to  ask  each  other  in  trem- 
ulous whispers  if  there  was  yet  any  news  from  the 
other  side  of  the  swift,  swollen  river  where  their 
fathers  and  husbands,  and  sons  and  brothers  were. 
But  when  they  had  gone  back,  hopeless  and  help- 
less, to  their  vigils  at  home,  the  grass-grown  neigh- 
borhood roads  were  utterly  deserted,  and  the 
strange  awesome  quiet  closed  down  again. 

235 


236  "  PO'-SOULS." 

Presently,  however,  our  soldiers  began  to  trudge 
by,  making  their  way  homeward  in  every  direc- 
tion. Their  old  canteens  and  grimy  haversacks 
were  slung  still  over  their  shoulders ;  their  ragged 
caps  were  pulled  down  in  military  fashion  upon 
their  sunburned  foreheads ;  their  grey  jackets, 
tattered,  camp-stained  and  mud-splashed,  were 
buttoned  with  a  certain  trim  air  across  their 
breasts ;  their  step,  weary  and  footsore  though 
they  were,  had  not  lost  a  steady  measured  cadence 
that  told  of  years  of  strict  discipline  and  watch- 
ful service. 

But  the  buoyancy  and  the  spring  had  all  died 
out  of  these  battle-scarred,  weather-beaten,  way- 
worn figures  ;  a  stern  sadness  was  on  their  meagre 
faces;  a  curious  half-defiant,  half-bewildered  look 
shone  in  their  hollow,  restless  eyes. 

Every  day,  singly,  or  in  groups  of  twos  and 
threes,  they  came  along  our  rose-bordered  lane 
and  turned  in  at  our  gate.  Sometimes  they  stayed 
over  night ;  one  stopped  for  a  four  or  five  days 
wrestle  with  a  fever  which  had  seized  upon  his 
half-starved  body  as  he  came  through  the  swamps ; 


"  PO  -SOULS.  237 

another  dropped  exhausted  in  the  gateway,  and 
lingered  on  with  us  until  he  died,  raving  in  his 
delirium  to  the  last  of  a  vine-hung  cabin  out  on 
the  banks  of  the  Comal  River,  where  "  Mary  and 
little  Mary  "  were  waiting  for  him.  But,  for  the 
most  part,  it  was  only  for  a  rest  on  the  steps  that 
they  came,  while  Mammy,  from  such  poor  and 
scanty  stores  as  remained  to  us,  got  them  a  bite  to 
eat.  For  they  were  all  hungry,  poor  fellows  ! 

While  they  ate  we  gathered  around  and  listened 
as  they  lived  over  again  their  life  in  camp  and 
hospital  and  prison;  and  made  again  their  hur- 
ried midnight  marches  ;  and  heard  again  the  sharp 
click  of  the  Vidette's  rifle  ;  and  wheeled  again  into 
the  thick  of  battle  ;  or  led  again  the  desperate 
charge,  where  this  comrade  or  that  fell  with  a  bullet 
in  his  brain  ;  or  dashed  once  more  up  the  breast- 
works after  their  brave  young  color-bearer,  who 
won  a  cheer  from  the  blue-coats  themselves  as  he 
leaped  down  and  planted  his  colors  in  their  very 
midst !  And  as  they  went  over  and  over  the  terri- 
ble four-years  story,  with  all  its  dangers  and  hard- 
ships, its  hopes  and  fears,  its  bloodshed  and  its 


238  "  PO'-SOULS." 

splendor,  the  dark  look  would  die  out  of  their 
emaciated  faces,  their  voices  would  ring,  their 
eyes  would  flash  and  sparkle.  For  a  brief  space 
defeat  and  humiliation  were  forgotten,  and  the  old 
familiar  "  rebel  yell  "  would  seem  about  to  burst 
from  their  lips.  Then  the  momentary  light  would 
fade,  and  a  silence  would  come  that  nobody  dared 
or  cared  to  break. 

But  these  were  unfamiliar  forms  that  came  along 
the  rose-bordered  lane  and  turned  in  at  our  gate  ; 
strange  faces  that  greeted  us  and  went  on  their 
eager  way  toward  a  home-welcoming,  somewhere. 

We  had  no  tidings  as  yet  from  our  own  boys. 

Mother's  eyes  grew  sadder  every  day  and  her 
step  more  listless.  Father  Kenyon  came,  bringing 
with  him  Louis  Walker,  whose  leg  had  been  shat- 
tered by  a  shell  the  very  day  before  the  final  sur- 
render. But  he  had  heard  nothing  for  a  long  time 
of  the  handful  that  remained  of  the  Selden  Rifles. 

He  had,  himself,  a  scar  on  his  left  cheek  from 
a  wound  that  he  got  the  same  day  father  was  killed. 
For  he  was  standing  by  father  when  he  fell,  and 
he  helped,  with  the  blood  streaming  from  his  own 


'  PO  -SOULS.' 


239 


face  —  and  washing  away  his  tears !  —  to  lay  him  in 
that  hastily  scooped-out  grave  on  the  battle-field, 
where  he  sleeps  still. 

"  Ain't  b'uther  Tom  an'  b'uther  Hart,  an'  Dandy 
an'  Virg  never  comin'  home  no'  more,  Mammy  ? " 
little  Percy  asked  one  day.  "  All  the  yether 
webels  is  comin'  home  an'goin'  home  all  th'  time  !  " 

"  Ya'as,  honey,  cose  dey  is !  "  Mammy  replied 
with  a  quick  glance  toward  mother  who  was  walk- 
ing slowly  up  and  down  the  veranda  and  watch- 
ing the  gate  ;  "  ob  cose  dey  is  on  dey  way  dis  minit. 
Yer  ole  Mammy  knows  dey  is.  On'y  dey  ain' 
gwine  ter  come  foot '/>/'  it,  lak  dese  here  po'  hungry 
white  trash  whar  yer  sees  comin'  pas'  dis  yer  way 
mawnin'  an  night.  'Dough  I  is  pow'ful  glad  ter 
gin  'em  sumpin  ter  eat,"  she  added  hospitably, 
"  jes  ez  long  ez  dey  is  er  dus'  er  meal  lef  in  de 
barril.  But  we-all's  white  chillun  ain'  gwine  ter 
come  dat  er  way.  We-alls  folks  rides  /" 

"  An'  me  an*  Unk  Joshua,  an'  b'uther  Tom  an' 
b'uther  Hart,  an'  Dandy,  an'  th'  res'  of  us  four 
little  boys  '11  hoe  th'  cane  an'  grin'  th'  sugar,  an' 
buil'  up  th'  fires,  an'  take  care  of  mother,  won't 


240  "  PO'-SOULS." 

• 

we,  Mammy  ? "  he  asserted  proudly  another  day, 

as  we  walked  from  the  deserted  Quarter  over  to 
v 

the  great-house. 

Mammy  groaned,  as  if  this  vision  —  since,  a 
sturdy  reality !  —  were  almost  more  than  she  could 
bear;  but  Mandy  said  with  a  flirt  of  her  shoul- 
ders: 

"  Spec  dem  fool-niggers  is  wishin'  by  dis  time 
dat  dey  uz  back  in  dey  own  cabin,  wid  Mammy 
ter  gin  out  dey  vittles  eb'y  mawnnin' ;  an'  Daddy 
ter  mek  'em  hump  dey-sefs  down  de  cane-rows 
twel  sundown !  " 

The  cabins  were  indeed  empty  and  the  negroes 
all  gone  !  Except,  of  course,  Uncle  Joshua  and 
Mammy  and  Mandy.  And  mother's  Prin-tess,  old 
Aunt  Rose.  To  say  nothing  of  the  "  triplers." 

The  men  of  the  field-gang  had  been  slipping 
quietly  away,  one  by  one,  during  the  past  six 
months.  By  planting-time  hardly  an  able-bodied 
hand,  or  a  plantation-mule  remained  on  the  place. 
With  the  news  of  the  surrender  —  and  they  seemed 
to  have  heard  it  even  before  we  did  —  there  was 
a  general  stampede  from  the  Quarter.  They 


"  PO'-SOULS."  241 

swarmed  down  to  the  landing  to  hail  the  down- 
ward-going boats  and  crowded  aboard  in  breath- 
less haste,  generally  taking  a  pile  of  bed-clothes 
and  a  battered-looking  chest  with  them,  and  leav- 
ing the  rest  of  their  belongings  carefully  locked 
up  in  their  deserted  cabins. 

For  a  time  the  house-people  stayed  on,  going 
about  their  work  in  a  fluttered,  excited  kind  of 
way  —  at  which  in  truth  no  one  can  wonder !  and 
regarding  rather  contemptuously  the  hurried  ex- 
odus of  the  field-hands. 

But  one  fine  morning  M'lindy  and  Sophy  and 
'Riah  had  disappeared.  A  day  or  so  afterward 
Aunt  Hester  came  into  the  dining-room  where  we 
were  at  breakfast.  She  passed  around  the  hot 
hoe-cakes  she  carried  and  then  planted  herself 
behind  mother's  chair.  "  Mis'  Lucy,"  she  said, 
"  I  hates  ter  leab  you  an'  de  chillun,  'deed  I  does. 
But  yer  knows,  chile,  dat  I  is  free  now,  an'  I  wants 
ter  feel  my  freedom.  'Pears  lak  I  cy'ant  feel  hit 
long's  I  stays  on  de  place,  even  wid  de  wages  you 
is  'lowin  fer  ter  gimme.  An'  so  I'se  had  my  chis1 
tucken  down  ter  de  landin'  an'  I'se  gwine  ter  de 


242  "PO  -SOULS." 

city  fer  ter  'joy  mysef  tr while  an'  feel  my  free- 
dom." 

"  Umph,"  grunted  Mammy,  after  mother  had 
taken  leave  of  her  and  she  was  backing  out  at  the 
door.  "  Dat  Hester  ain't  b'long  ter  we-all's  fambly 
but  jes'  'bout  thirty  year  no-how.  Ole  Mars'  done 
bought  her  fum  er  nigger-trader  den  I  reckin' ! " 

A  little  later  came  Aunt  Ca'lline  :  "  Mis'  Lucy, 
chile,  I  is  made  up  my  min'  ter  leab  yer ;  'dough 
hit  do  trebble  me  pow'ful  ter  go  'way  fum  you  an' 
de  chillun.  I'se  gwine  ter  de  city  termorrer.  I 
don'  know,  'dough,  how  I  is  gwine  ter  git  erlong ; 
an'  mebbe  I  ain'  gwine  ter  lak  hit  down  dar.  Dat 
huccome  I  gwine  ter  leab  de  triplers  heah,  'long 
er  you.  Caze  I  mout  come  back  ef  I  don't  git 
erlong."  And  sure  enough,  Marthy  and  Mary  and 
Laz'rus  marched  up  to  the  house  the  next  morning 
and  announced  that  their  mammy  had  "  saunt  'em 
fer  ter  stay  wid  Mis'  Lucy  twell  she  fin'  out  how 
she  lak  hit  in  New  'Leens." 

Jerry  and  Jake  and  Grief  were  among  the  very 
last  to  go.  "  Yer  knows,  Mis'  Lucy,"  they  said  as 
they  stood  around,  looking  a  little  shamefaced  and 


"  PO'-SOULS." 


243 


sheepish,  "  yer  knows  dat  dey  ain't  no  use  o'  we 
wu'kin'  now  whence  de  Gov'mtnt  is  bleege  ter  tek 
cy'ar  o'  we-all.  De  Gov'tninf  is  'vite  us  ter  hoi* 
out  we  han's ;  an'  we  is  boun'  ter  see  what  isgwine 
ter  be  shuck  down  ter  de  po'  'buseded  nigger,  yah ! 
yah!  yah!!" 

Jerry  had  his  banjo  under  his  arm,  and  as  they 
went  off  down  the  lane  we  heard  him  strumming 
on  it,  and  their  voices  came  back  to  us  in  a  lively 
refrain : 

"  Sheep  an"  shote  walkin'  in  de  paster, 

1  Sheep,'  said  shote,  '  won't  yer  walk  er  little  faster  ? ' 

'  Shote,'  said  sheep,  '  my  toe  is  so',' 

'  Sheep,'  said  shote,  '  I  did'n  know.'  " 

At  last,  one  afternoon,  we  were  all  out  on  the 
veranda.  Grandpa  was  there ;  and  Mere,  with 
old  Justine  behind  her  chair  in  her  bright  tignou 
and  white  apron,  just  the  same  as  if  there  had 
been  no  war,  and  she  had  never  heard  of  freedom. 
And  mother  in  her  low  chair.  And  cousin  Nellie 
in  the  hammock  under  the  rose-vine  softly  sing- 
ing: 

"Wounded  by  bayonets,  shells  and  balls, 
Somebody's  Darling  was  borne  one  day." 


244  "  PO'-SOULS." 

The  magnolias  were  in  bloom,  their  great  white 
bells  showing  among  the  dark-green  leaves  of  the 
trees  that  bordered  the  long  avenue  down  to  the 
gate,  and  their  peculiar  pungent  perfume  coming 
up  to  us  on  little  puffs  of  warm  south  wind.  And 
there  were  roses  starting  the  ruined  hedges.  But 
the  flower-beds  were  choked  with  weeds ;  tank 
grasses  waved  knee-deep  in  the  rose-garden;  piles 
of  last  winter's  dead  leaves  were  drifted  against 
the  trellises  ;  unpruned  and  untended  vines  trailed 
over  the  walks.  Out  in  the  fields  the  thin  stand 
of  cane  whose  sickly  yellow  tufts  rustled  in  the 
breeze,  was  knotted  with  tie-vines ;  the  cotton- 
patch  had  disappeared  under  a  mass  of  morning 
glories.  Over  by  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  a  black- 
ened waste  surrounded  one  tall,  wide-mouthed 
chimney  —  the  unknown  hand  that  put  the  torch 
to  River-View  and  to.the  out-houses  of  Bon-Soldat 
had  the  same  night  fired  our  sugar-house  and 
sheds.  A  forlorn,  ragged,  unkempt  look  was  over 
everything. 

"  Hit  don't  look  lak  we-all's  plantation,  do  it, 
Mis'  Lucy  !  "  sighed  Mammy,  who  had  come  out 


"  PO'-SOULS."  245 

of  the  hall-door  and  stood  by  mother.  To  which 
mother  shook  her  head  silently. 

Mandy,  now  a  tall  comely  girl  of  seventeen, 
was  sitting  on  the  top  step  winding  yarn.  I  was 
patiently  holding  the  hank  for  her. 

"  Caze,  yer  knows,  Miss  Ma'y,"  she  said,  "  dat 
dem  pizen,  no-'count  house-gals  is  done  sot  dey- 
se'fs  free,  an'  we  is  got  ter  larn  ter  do  de  wu'k  an' 
mek  we-all's  own  livin'." 

"  The  "  triplers  "  were  playing  out  on  the  lawn. 
Old  Aunt  Rose  sat  on  a  bench,  with  her  switch 
across  her  lap  minding  them  —  not  that  Marthy 
and  Mary  and  Laz'rus  needed  minding ;  great, 
sturdy,  strapping,  ten-year-olds  that  they  were! 
But  Aunt  Rose  followed  them  about  and  looked 
after  them  from  her  long  habit  of  "mindin'  de 
babies." 

Uncle  Joshua  was  on  the  bottom  step  with 
the  little  boys  grouped  around  him.  Poor  Uncle 
Joshua,  his  wool  had  turned  white  as  cotton  since 
the  day  the  Yankee  officer  brought  home  father's 
sword  ! 

A  small  dark  object  lay  in  his  wrinkled  yellow 


246  "  PO'-SOULS." 

palm.  The  little  boys  were  looking  at  it  cu- 
riously. 

"What  is  it  anyhow,  Uncle  Joshua?"  one  of 
them  asked. 

"  Hit  am  er  rabbit-foot,"  replied  Uncle  Joshua. 

"  Rabbit-foots  is  for  good  luck,  ain't  they,  Uncle 
Joshua  ? "  said  Percy. 

"  Ya'as,  honey.  An'  I  is  went  'roun'  dis  mawnin' 
'fore  de  time  fer  ter  ring  de  plantation-bell  —  I  is 
gwine  ter  keep  on  ringin'  dat  bell  eb'y  mawnin', 
Mis'  Lucy,  same  ez  ef  dem  lazy  niggers  uz  heah  !" 
he  interrupted  himself  to  say,  turning  an  upward 
look  at  mother  who  smiled  wistfully  down  at  him. 
"  I  is  went  roun'  an'  teched  all  de  pos'es  on  de 
place  wid  de  rabbit-foot.  De  cayage-gate  pos'  an' 
de  house-gate  pos',  an'  de  v'randy-pos',  an'  bofe  de 
do'-pos'es,  er  hopin'  dat  de  rabbit-foot  '11  fotch 
good-luck  ter  de  place.  Gaze  hit  'pears  lak  ez 
how  good  luck  am  ez  sca'ce  on  dis  plantation  dese 
times,  ez  jay-birds  on  er  Friday."  And  Uncle 
Joshua  gave  a  sort  of  groan. 

"  Is  jay-birds  scarce  on  Friday  ? "  demanded 
Will. 


"PO'-SOULS." 


247 


"  Look-er  heah,  honey,  is  you  eber  in  yo'  bawn 
day  heerd  tell  o'  anybody  whar  is  see  er  jay-bird 
on  er  Friday  ?  " 

"  But  why,  Uncle  Joshua  ? " 

"  Go  long,  chillun  !  yer  knows  dat  de  jay-bird 
am  bleege  ter  spen'  he  time  er  totin'  san'  er 
Friday." 

"But  why!" 

"  Well,  dey  do  say,"  said  Uncle  Joshua,  "  dat 
hit  am  de  rabbit  dat  done  sot  dat  wicked  jay-bird 
ter  totin'  dat  san'.  Yer  see  hit  am  sump'n  lak 
dis  yer :  De  rabbit  am  de'  mos'  wises'  er  all  de 
anermiles  ;  an'  onct  he  gin  er  party,  lak  whar  yo' 
maw  use  ter  gin  fo'  de  wah  whence  Marster  an' 
de  young  Marsters  uz  heah  ;  an'  dey  wa'n't  nobody 
kill  yit  on  de  fiel'-er-battle ;  and  no  swo'd  wa'n't 
saunt  home ;  "  Uncle  Joshua's  voice  faltered,  but 
he  presently  went  on  : 

"  Well,  Mars'  Rabbit  he  gin  er  party ;  hit  uz  on 
er  Friday,  caze  he  al'uz  gins  he's  party  on  er 
Friday.  An'  all  de  critters  done  come,  an'  dey  uz 
havin'  er  fine  time.  Whoo  !  er  mighty  fine  time! 
But  jes'  'zactly  whence  dey  all  done  eatin'  de 


248  "PO'-SOULS." 

gombo,  an'  de  cat-fish  uz  gwine  ter  be  brung  in, 
Mars'  Jay-bird  he  tucken  sick.  An'  he  rise  up  fum 
he  cheer  an'  say  ez  how  he  feel  pow'ful  bad  fer 
ter  leab  all  dat  good  comp'ny,  but  he  got  ter  go 
home  an'  sen'  fer  de  doctor ;  an'  den  he  go  off, 
limpin'-lak.  De  res'  o'  de  comp'ny  dey  uz  turrible 
'stressed.  Not  but  whar  dey  could  eat  do'." 
Uncle  Joshua  chuckled.  "  An'  dey  stay  ober  dat 
possum  an'  sweet-'tater  plum  twel  de  nex'  mawnin' ! 

"  Whence  dey  all  git  home,  lo  an'  behole,  all  dey 
house  done  been  broke  op'n  an'  all  dey  'sessions 
done  stole !  Dey  all  mek  er  mighty  ter-do,  an' 
run  ter  Mars  Rabbit  (caze  he  so  wise),  de  jay-bird 
'long  o'  de  res'.  Mars'  Rabbit  he  thunk  er  minit 
an'  den  he  tell  'em  ter  go  back  ter  dey  own  house 
caze  he  ain't  got  no  notion  'tall  'bout  who  dun  tuk 
dey-all's  prop'ty.  An'  Mars'  Jay-bird  he  mo'n  de 
loudes'  er  all  an'  'buse  Mars'  Rabbit  on  de  way 
home  caze  he  didn't  gin  'em  no  'vice  'bout  ketchin' 
de  thief." 

"  If  Mars'  Rabbit  was  the  most  wisest,  why 
didn't  he  know  who  the  thief  was  ?  '"inquired  one 
of  the  small  listeners. 


"  POT-SOULS."  249 

"  Dat  'zactly  whar  I  gwine  ter  tell  yer  !  On  de 
ve'y  nex'  Friday  Mars'  Rabbit  he  gin  'nuther  party 
an'  ax  em  all,  an'  dey  all  come  jes'  de  same  ez 
befo'.  An'  zactly  de  same  ez  de  ye  the  r  time 
Mars'  Jay-bird  riz  up  in  he  cheer  an'  'clar  dat  he 
tucken  sick  an'  dat  he  mus'  go  home  an'  sen'  fer 
de  doctor.  An'  off  he  go  limpin'-lak.  Den  Mars' 
Rabbit  he  ax  de  compn'y  fer  ter  'scuse  him  fer  er 
li'l  while.  An'  soon's  he  out'n  de  house  heah  he 
go  todes  de  Jay-bird  house,  bookity  !  bookity  .'bookity  I 
whoo  !  he  do  git  ober  de  groun'  fas !  When  he 
git  dar  he  op'n  de  do'  an'  goes  in  caze  dey  want 
nobody  dar ;  an'  so  he  shet  de  do'  an'  sot  down 
by  de  fiah  an'  waited.  Pres'ny  he  hear  er  noise 
comin',  an'  'rectly  de  do'  op'n,  an'  in  come  Mars' 
Jay-bird,  pow'ful  spry,  an'  totin'  er  big  baig  on  he 
shoulder.  An'  yer  jes  ought  ter  see  whar  wuz  in 
dat  meal-sack  ! " 

"An'  Mars'  Jay-bird  was'n  sick  at  all!"  cried 
Percy  amazed. 

"  Cose  he  wa'n't,  but  whoo  !  he  mighty  sick  when 
he  see  Mars'  Rabbit  sittin'  dar  in  de  cornder  jes' 
er  waitin'  fer  him  !  He  drap  down  on  he  knees  an' 


250  "  PO'-SOULS." 

he  beg,  '  Please,  Mars'  Rabbit,  don't  put  me  in  de 
jail ! '  Mars'  Rabbit  he  thunk  and  thunk,  an' 
'rectly  he  gin  out  he  min'  'bout  de  case.  He  say, 
'  Mars'  Jay-bird,  I  don't  lak  ter  'stroy  yo'  char-tfrfer 
wid  yo'  neighbors  an'  I  gwine  ter  let  you  off  on  de 
perwided,  dat  you  don't  nebber  steal  nothin'  no 
mo'.  At  de  same  time  I  is  gwine  ter  gin  yer 
sump'n  ter  do  whar'll  keep  yer  busy  on  de  feas' 
days;  an'  also  keep  yer  fum  bein'  tuk  sick  an' 
habin'  ter  sen'  fer  de  doctor.'  An'  so's  he  done 
sot  de  jay-bird  ter  totin'  san'  eber  Friday,  an'  dat 
de  reason  whar  you  cy'ant  neber  cotch  er  sight  o' 
er  jay-bird  on  er  Friday.  Dey  all  totin'  san',  dass 
why.  Lan' !  chillun',  I  tells  you  dat  Mars'  Rabbit 
am  de  mos'  wises'  o'  all  de  anermiles  an'  he  am 
al'uz  sho'  ter  fotch  good  luck.  Das  de  reason  I  is 
tech  de  pos'es  on  dis  place  wid  dis  yer  Mars'- 
Rabbit-foot ! " 

And  Uncle  Joshua's  eyes  twinkled  almost  as 
they  used  to  do,  as  he  put  the  rabbit-foot  back  into 
his  pocket. 

Grandpa  had  been  looking  absently  down  toward 
the  lane  while  he  listened,  and  now  he  turned  to 


PO'-SOULS.' 


251 


mother.  "  Lucille,"  he  remarked,  "  here  comes 
another  squad  of  soldiers.  It  is  almost  sundown, 
and  we  must  keep  them  over  night  if  we  can. 
What  is  in  the  oven,  Mammy  ? " 

The  gate  opened  as  he  spoke  and  the  squad 
came  in.  We  could  see  the  glitter  of  their  buttons 
in  the  red  rays  of  the  evening  sun.  They  paused 
a  moment  at  the  end  of  the  long  shelled  walk,  and 
then  came  on  marching  abreast  with  steady  sol- 
dierly step.  There  were  four  of  them.  Presently 
we  saw  that  they  had  stuck  a  red  handkerchief,  or 
a  bit  of  rag,  on  the  end  of  a  stick  and  were  carry- 
ing it  like  a  flag.  One  of  them  drummed  with 
his  fists  on  an  imaginary  drum,  and  another  pre- 
tended to  play  upon  a  fife.  The  tune  that  they 
were  all  whistling  came  plainly  to  us  in  a  moment. 
It  was  "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me." 

Grandpa  brought  his  wooden  leg  down  on  the 
floor  with  a  thump,  and  peered  half-frowning  over 
the  railing. 

But,  what  was  the  matter !  There  was  mother 
springing  from  her  chair  and  standing  all  a-tremble 
with  outstretched  arms.  Mammy's  head  was 


252  "PO  -SOULS." 

lifted  and  her  eyes  shining.  Then  there  was 
Mammy  catching  mother  in  her  arms  and  running 
down  the  steps  with  her  clasped  to  her  breast  as 
if  she  had  been  a  baby.  And  then,  there  they  all 
were  in  a  group  together,  two  of  the  ragged  sol- 
diers with  their  arms  around  mother.  And  Mammy 
first  frantically  hugging  the  other  two  and  then 
turning,  shouting  wildly,  to  throw  her  arms  around 
mother  and  the  boys  ! 

Uncle  Joshua,  after  one  look,  threw  himself  upon 
his  knees  and  cried  out :  "  Lord,  now  let  Dy  sar- 
vent  'part  in  peace,  caze  dese  eyes  is  done  seed 
Dy  salvation ! " 

Yes !  it  was  brother  Hart,  and  brother  Tom,  and 
Virg  and  Dandy  !  Dominique  Brion  had  hurried 
home  to  his  widowed  mother  at  Bon  Soldat ; 
Sidney  Nagle  and  Tom  Dennison  had  stopped 
with  Father  Kenyon  down  at  the  landing.  They 
had  tramped  home  together  all  the  way  from  Vir- 
ginia ;  and  they  had  waited  two  days  on  the  other 
side  of  the  River  for  a  chance  to  come  over.  And 
these,  with  poor  maimed  Louis  Walker,  were  all 
of  the  Selden  Rifles  who  ever  came  home ! 


\ 


"PO'-SOULS." 


255 


We  pressed  around  our  boys  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps.  What  scarecrows  they  were,  to  be  sure  ! 
Their  grey  uniforms  hung  upon  them  in  tatters  ; 
their  pieces  of  shoes  were  tied  with  strings  to  their 
bruised  and  bleeding  feet ;  their  rimless  caps  were 
set  jauntily  upon  long  and  unkempt  locks.  Their 
faces  and  hands  were  scratched  and  stained. 
Their  laughing  blue  eyes  looked  out  of  deep 
hollows  ;  their  young  cheeks  were  all  fallen  in. 
Virg,  big,  fat,  solemn  Virg,  had  become  gaunt. 
Dandy,  always  slim  and  trim,  was  a  tall  framework 
of  skin  and  bone. 

"Jes'  look  at  dat  fool-nigger,  Dandy!"  called 
Mandy  from  the  veranda.  She  was  leaning  over 
the  railing ;  her  black  face  was  wet  with  tears  and 
her  voice  was  husky,  but  a  lively  sparkle  was  in 
her  dancing  eyes.  "  Look  at  dat  nigger  whar  is 
done  been  ter  de  war  'long  o'  Mars'  Tom  !  My 
Ian' !  I  is  sorrier  dan  ever  fer  Mars'  Tom  I  " 

Dandy  glanced  up  at  her  and  laughed,  showing 
his  white  teeth,  and  looking  for  a  moment  like  the 
old  Dandy.  Then  he  threw  himself  upon  his 
hands  and  essayed  to  lift  his  heels  in  the  air  and 


256  "PO'-SOULS." 

clap  them  together.  But  it  was  a  miserable  failure. 
He  tumbled  over  on  the  ground  and  laid  there 
breathless.  As  he  crawled  up  slowly,  he  scratched 
his  head  and  looked  around  with  a  beseeching, 
apologetic  air.  "I  reckin,"  he  admitted,  "  dat  I 
is  kinder  weak.  De  truf  is,  Mis'  Lucy  an'  li'l 
Miss  Ma'y,  we  is  all  hongry  an'  dat's  er  fac'." 

Mother  swallowed  a  little  sob  and  she  and 
Mammy  looked  at  each  other  with  a  kind  of  agony 
in  their  tear-filled  eyes.  Then  Mammy  darted 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  to  the  kitchen  and 
we  all  followed. 

"  'Tain't  nothin'  \>\\\.po'1 -souls*  chillun,"  she  said 
as  she  placed  the  young  Marsters  at  the  head  of 
the  long  kitchen-table,  with  a  cloth  before  them  ; 
and  settled  Virg  and  Dandy  at  the  foot  with  some 
tin  plates.  "  'Tain't  de  good-go-downs  f  whar  yo' 
Mammy  done  promis'  yer  ?  But  hit  am  all  we  got. 
An'  dem  po'-souls  am  mighty  good  eatin'  when 
you  is  hongry.  I  is  said  ter  yer  Uncle  Joshua  dis 
mawnin'  whence  I  uz  drappin'  dem  po'-souls  in  de 

*  "  Po'-souls"  are  corn-meal  dumplings  boiled  with  mustard  or  turnip- 
greens  and  bacon,  or  with  collards. 
t  "Good-go-downs"  are  very  light  fried  flour  puffs. 


"  PO'-SOULS."  257 

pot-liquor  fer  Mis'  Lucy  an'  de  chillun  an'  we-all 
dinner,  datsposen  de  young  Marsters  an'  Virg  an' 
Dandy  gwine  ter  git  heah  ter-day.  An'  dat  hue- 
come  I  ter  mek  so  many  po'-souls  !  " 

Uncle  Joshua  hovered  around  in  an  ecstasy  of  de- 
light. "  De  good  luck  done  come  back  ter  be  sho' !  " 

"Joshua!"  cried  Mammy,  turning  upon  him, 
"  don't  yer  dar  fer  ter  say  dat  de  luck  done  come 
'long  o'  dat  dar  no-'count  rabbit-foot  whar  yer  got 
in  yer  pocket,  whence  Mis'  Lucy  am  been  er 
prayin'  an'  er  prayin',  an'  de  good  Book  say//«/- 
edly  as  how  de  prars  o'  de  good  ?ooman  am  gwine 
ter  be  answered  !  " 

"I  ain't  said  hit!  I  ain't  said  hit!"  replied 
Uncle  Joshua,  solemnly  raising  his  eyes  heaven- 
ward, "Lord,  hit  am  Dy  han'  dat  is  brung  dese 
chillun  home  an'  dat  am  stop  de  onrighteous  wah 
twix  br'ur  an'  br'ur !  Dy  name  be  praiseded  ! " 

"An'  did'n  I  tole  yer,  Mis'  Lucy,"  said  Mammy, 
beaming  at  mother,  "  did'n  I  tole  yer,  dat  same 
day  whar  de  chillun  went  off  to  de  wah,  dat  dey 
uz  comin'  home  !  Did'n  I  tole  yer  dat  wa'n't  nothin' 
gwine  ter  happen  ter  dese  chillun  ! " 


Young  Folks'  Illustrated 
Quartos. 

"TO  de  Awake  Volume  Z.    Quarto,  boards,  1.75. 

Get  d  literature  and  art  have  been  put  into  this  volume.  Henry 
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King's  and  Queens  at  Home.    By  France*  A.  Hum- 

irey.     Quarto,  boards,  50  cts. 

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Humphrey.     Quarto,  boards,  jo  cis. 
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More  than  50,000  copies  »old.  The  most  successful  quarto  lor 
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Young  Folks'  Cyclopedia  of  Stories.     Quarto, 

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What  the  Seven  Did  ;  or,  the  Doings  of  the  Wordswortk 
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The  Seren  are  little  girl  neighbors  who  meet  once  a  week  at 
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Me  and  My  Dolls.     By  L.  T.   Meade.     Quarto,  50  ctt. 
A  family  history.     Some  of  the  dolls  have  had  queer  adventures. 
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The  story  of  a  funny  parrot  and  two  changing  children.  The 
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Five  Little  Peppers.     By  Margaret  Sidney,     ramo,  1.50. 
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Sell  Series.  10  vols.,  boards,  double  lithographed  covers, 
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Rocky  Fork,  Old  Caravan  Days,  The  Dogberry  Bunch,  by 
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The  wonderful  cat  story  of  cat  stories  told  by  Pussyanita  that 
aaved  the  lives  of  all  the  oats. 


Natural  History. 


Stories  and  Pictures  of  Wild  Animals,  By  Anna 
F.  Burnham.  Quarto,  boards,  75  cts. 

Big  letters,  big  pictures  and  easy  stories  of  elephants,  lion*, 
tigers,  lynxes,  jaguars,  bears  and  many  others. 

Life  and  Habits  of  Wild  Animals.  Quarto,  doth. 
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The  very  best  book  young  folks  can  have  if  they  are  at  all  in- 
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make  them  so.  Illustrated  from  designs  by  Joseph  Wolf. 

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Three  instructive  and  interesting  books :  Children  vrith  Animals, 
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Some  Animal  Pets.  By  Mrs.  Oliver  Howard.  Quarto, 
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The  experiences  of  a  Colorado  family  with  young,  wild  and 
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Tiny  Folk  in  Red  and  Black.    Quarto,  boards,  35  cts. 

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My  Land  and  Water  Friends,  r.y  Mary  F..  Ham- 
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Danger  Signals.  By  Rev.  F.  E.  Clark,  President  ••' 
the  United  Society  of  Christian  Endeavor.  i2mo,  cloth,  75  cts. 

The  enemies  of  youth  from  the  business  man  s  standpoint 
The  substance  of  a  series  of  addresses  delivered  two  or  thre« 
years  ago  in  one  of  the  Boston  churches. 


Marion  Harland's  Cookery  for  Beginners.  i2tn«. 

rellum  cloth,  75  cts. 

The  untrained  housekeeper  needs  such  directions  as  will  not 
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simple  and  practical  enoigh  to  meet  this  demand. 


Bible    Stories.     By   Laurie   Loring.     4to,   boards,  35  cts. 

Very  short  stories  with  pictures.  The  Creation,  Noah  and  the 
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The  Magic  Pear.     Oblong,  8vo,  boards,  75  cts. 

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What  O'ClOCk  Jingles.  By  Margaret  Johnson.  Ob- 
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Twelve  little  counting  lessons.  Pretty  rhymes  for  small  chil- 
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Our  Young    Folks   at   Home.    4to,   boards,   i.oo. 

A  collection  of  illustrated  prose  stories  by  American  authors  and 
artists.  It  is  sure  to  make  friends  among  children  of  all  ages. 
Colored  frontispiece. 


Peep  of  Day  Series.  3  vols.,  1.20 each. 

Peep  of  Day,  Line  upon  Line,  Precept  upon  Precept.  Ser- 
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Home  Primer.     Boards,  square,  8vo,  50  cts. 
A  book  for  the  little  ones  to  learn  to  read  in  before  they  are  old 
••ough  to  be  sent  off  to  school.     100  illustrations. 


TILTING  AT  WfivDMiixs  :  A  Story  of  the  Blae 
Grass  Country.  By  Emma  M.  Connelly.  Boston : 
D.  Lothrop  Company.  12rao,  81.50. 

NOT  since  the  days  of  "  A  Fool's  Errand  "  has  so 
strong  and  so  characteristic  a  "  border  novel "  been 
brought  to  the  attention  of  the  public  as  Is  now 
presented  by  Miss  Connelly  in  this  book  which  she 
eo  aptly  terms  "  Tilting  at  Windmills."  Indeed,  it 
is  questionable  whether  Judge  Tourgee's  famous 
book  touched  so  deftly  and  yet  so  practically  the 
real  phases  of  the  reconstruction  period  and  the 
interminable  antagonisms  of  race  and  section. 

The  self-sufficient  Boston  man;  a  capital  fellow 
at  heait,  but  tinged  with  the  traditions  and  envi- 
ronments of  his  Puritan  ancestry  and  conditions, 
coming  into  his  strange  heritage  in  Kentucky  at 
the  close  of  the  civil  war,  seeks  to  change  by  in- 
stant -manipulation  all  the  equally  strong  and  deep- 
rooted  traditions  and  environments  of  Blue  Grass 
society. 

His  ruthless  conscience  will  allow  of  no  com- 
promise, and  the  people  whom  he  seeks  to  prose- 
lyte alike  misunderstand  his  motives  and  spurn  bis 
proffered  assistance. 

Presumed  errors  are  materialized  and  partial 
evils  are  magnified.  Allerton  tilts  at  windmills 
and  with  the  customary  Quixotic  results.  He  Is, 
seemingly,  unhorsed  in  every  encounter. 

Miss  Connelly's  work  in  this,  her  first  novel,  will 
make  readers  anxious  to  hear  from  her  again  and 
it  will  certainly  create,  both  in  her  own  and  other 
States,  a  strong  desire  to  see  her  next  forthcoming 
work  announced  by  the  same  publishers  in  one  of 
their  new  series — her  "  Story  of  the  State  of  Ke«- 
tucky." 


THE  NORTHERN  CROSS.  By  Willis  Boyd  Allen. 
111.  Pine  Cone  Series.  Boston :  D.  Lotlirop  Com- 
pany. Price  $1.00.  In  this  breezy  and  thoroughly 
healthy  story  of  a  boy's  life  at  school  the  author 
proves  his  right  to  a  foremost  place  among  the 
writers  of  juvenile  literature  in  this  country. 
The  story  is  local,  t>r-  scene  being  laid  in  and  about 
the  Boston  Latin  School,  from  which  institution 
the  author  was  a  graduate.  It  is,  in  fact,  largely 
a  record  of  his  own  experiences,  and  some  of  his 
descriptions  of  characters  and  incidents  are  as  ac- 
curate as  photographs.  We  are  glad  that  he  has 
put  down  that  prince  of  schoolmasters,  Dr.  Francis 
Gardner,  "  in  his  habit  as  he  lived,"  so  that  future 
generations  of  Latin  School  boys  will  know  some- 
thing of  his  personality ;  and  so  with  Mr.  Emer- 
son, whose  reputation  as  a  teacher  and  gentleman 
was  equal  to  that  of  Dr.  Gardner  himself.  We 
dare  say  many  of  the  classmates  of  the  author 
will  ^ecognize  many  of  the  funny  incidents  which 
make  up  a  portion  of  the  narrative,  as  well  as  the 
actors  in  them.  Exhibition  day,  the  prize  drill  on 
the  Common  and  scenes  in  the  schoolroom  are  de- 
scribed with  infinite  relish,  and  there  isn't  a  boy 
anywhere  with  a  bit  of  boy  feeling  about  him  that 
will  not  enjoy  the  book  from  cover  to  cover.  It 
forms  one  of  the  Pine  Cone  series,  and  readers  of 
the  preceding  volumes  will  find  some  old  acquaint- 
ances in  its  pages. 


A  QUEER  LITTLE  PRIXCKSS.  By  Frances  Eaton. 
111.  Boston  :  D.  Lothrop  Co.  Price  §1.50.  This 
unique  and  altogether  charming  story  will  be  read 
and  re-read  in  thousands  of  homes,  and  with  in- 
creasing interest  and  delight.  The  princess  is  a 
little  American  girl  who  has  been  named  Henrietta, 
but  who  has  been  called  by  her  pet  name  from 
babyhood,  and  it  still  clings  to  her  at  the  age  of 
seven.  She  is  sensitive,  truth-loving,  graceful 
and  ingenuous,  a  counterpart  in  character  to  "  lit- 
tle Lord  Fauntleroy,"  and,  of  course,  is  the  idol  of 
the  household.  Her  mother  is  dead,  and  she  lives 
with  her  grandmother  in  a  large  and  pleasant 
house  with  broad  grounds  where  she  can  play  and 
be  happy  from  morning  until  night  All  children 
Insensibly  try  to  copy  after  a  character  whom  they 
admire,  and  the  "princess"  is  so  skilfully  and 
attractively  drawn  that  she  will  be  adored  by  every 
little  reader.  The  influence  of  the  story  will  be 
felt  in  every  home  where  there  are  children,  where 
the  girls  will  try  to  emulate  the  little  heroine,  and 
the  boys  will  make  an  effort  to  be  as  manly,  truth- 
ful, and  self-sustaining  as  Dick.  A  very  strongly 
drawn  character  of  the  story  is  Aunt  Minerva, 
•whose  crustiness  and  prejudices  arc  destroyed  and 
broken  down  under  the  combined  influence  of  the 
two  children.  There  are  touches  of  pathos  scat- 
tered here  and  there  through  the  book,  but  the 
general  atmosphere  is  clear  and  sunny.  The  story 
is  beautifluly  illustrated  by  Bridgman,  and  may  b» 
«et  down  as  the  juvenile  book  of  the  season. 


THE  ART  OF  LIVING.  From  the  Writings  of 
Samuel  Smilss.  With  Introduction  by  the  ven- 
erable Dr.  leabody  of  Harvard  University,  and 
Biographical  Sketch  by  the  editor,  Carrie  Adelaide 
Cooke.  Bos 'on  :  D.  Lothrop  Company.  Price 
01.00. 

Samuel  SnJles  is  the  Benjamin  Franklin  of  Eng- 
land. His  sayings  have  a  similar  terseness,  apt- 
ness and  f  ores ;  they  are  directed  to  practical  endsr 
like  Franklin's;  they  have  the  advantage  of  being 
nearer  our  tine  and  therefore  more  directly  related 
to  subjects  vipon  which  practical  wisdom  is  of 
practical  use 

Success  in  life  is  his  subject  all  through,  The  Art 
of  Living ;  and  he  confesses  on  the  very  first  page 
that  "happiness  consists  in  the  enjoyment  of  little 
pleasures  scattered  along  the  common  path  of  life, 
which  in  the  eager  search  for  some  great  and  ex- 
citing joy  we  are  apt  to  overlook.  It  finds  delight 
in  the  perfoimance  of  common  duties  faithfully 
and  honorably  fulfilled." 

Let  the  reac  er  go  back  to  that  quotation  again  and 
consider  ho\v  contrary  it  is  to  the  spirit  that  under- 
lies the  busint  isses  that  are  nowadays  tempting  meii 
to  sudden  fortune,  torturing  with  disappointments 
nearly  all  win  >  yield,  and  burdening  the  successful 
beyond  their  endurance,  shortening  lives  and  mak- 
ing them  wea  ry  and  most  of  them  empty. 

Is  it  worth  while  to  join  the  mad  rush  for  the 
lottery ;  or  tc  take  the  old  road  to  slow  success  ? 

This  book  of  the  chosen  thoughts  of  a  rare  phil- 
osopher leads  to  contentment  as  well  as  wisdom ; 
for,  when  we  choose  the  less  brilliant  course  be- 
cause we  are  jure  it  is  the  best  one,  we  have  the 
most  complete  and  lasting  repose  from  anxiety. 


MONTEAGLE.  By  Tansy.  Boston:  P.  Lothroji 
Company.  Price  75  cents.  Both  girls  and  boys 
will  find  this  story  of  Pansy's  pleasant  and  profit- 
able reading.  Dilly  West  is  a  character  whom  the 
first  will  find  it  an  excellent  thing  to  intimate,  and 
boys  will  find  in  Hart  Hammond  a  noble,  manly, 
fellow  who  walks  for  a  time  dangerously  near 
temptation,  but  escapes  through  providential  in- 
fluences, not  the  least  of  which  is  the  steady 
devotion  to  duty  of  the  young  girl,  who  becomes 
an  unconscious  power  of  good. 

A  DOZEN  OF  THEM.  By  Pansy.  Boston :  D. 
Lothrop  Company.  Price  60  cents.  A  Sunday- 
school  story,  written  i»-  Pansy's  best  vein,  and 
having  for  its  hero  a  twelve-year-old  boy  who  has 
been  thrown  upon  the  world  by  the  death  of  his 
parents,  and  who  has  no  one  left  to  look  after 
him  but  a  sister  a  little  older,  whose  time  is  fully 
occupied  in  the  milliner's  shop  where  she  is  em- 
ployed. Joe,  for  that  is  the  boy's  name,  finds  a 
place  to  work  at  a  farmhouse  where  there  is  a  small 
private  school.  His  sister  makes  him  promise  to 
learn  by  heart  a  verse  of  Scripture  every  month. 
It  is  a  task  at  first,  but  he  is  a  boy  of  his  word, 
and  he  fulfills  his  promise,  with  what  results  the 
reader  of  the  story  will  find  out.  It  is  an  excellent 
book  for  the  Sunday-school. 

AT  HOMR  AXD  ABROAD.  Stories  from  The  Panty 
Boston:  D.  Lothrop  Company.  Price,  $1.00.  A 
score  of  short  stories  which  originally  appeared 
in  the  delightful  magazine,  The  Pansy,  have  been 
here  brought  together  in  collected  form  with  the 
Illustrations  which  originally  accompanied  them. 
They  are  from  the  pens  of  various  authors,  and 
are  bright,  instructive  and  entertaining. 


KELP.  By  Willis  Boyd  Allen.  Pine  Cone  Series. 
Boston  :  D.  Lothrop  Co.  Price  $1.00.  Mr.  Allen 
has  never  written  a  more  delightful  story  than 
this,  the  fourth  volume  in  the  famous  Pine  Cone 
Series.  It  takes  a  jolly  party  of  young  campers 
from  Boston  down  to  the  Isles  of  Shoals  for  a 
fortnight,  and  describes  the  various  ways  in  which 
the  members  enjoy  themselves  during  that  happy 
time.  The  first  day  is  spent  at  the  Appledore 
House.  The  second  sees  the  party  safely  en- 
camped on  Star  Island,  the  girls  in  the  one  soli- 
tary cabin  on  the  island,  which  has  been  especially 
cleared  up  for  them,  and  the  boys  in  their  tent. 
They  are  all  old  friends  of  the  reader,  Tom  and 
Bess  Percival,  Pet  Sibley,  Bert  and  Susie  Martin 
and  Nan  Burton,  all  of  whom  have  played  parts  in 
the  preceding  volumes  of  the  series.  They  crowd 
into  these  two  weeks  an  amount  of  enjoyment 
possible  only  to  young  people  of  sound  healtb, 
perfect  freedom  from  care,  and  who  are  in  per- 
fect sympathy  and  harmony  with  one  anothei  . 
Appledore,  where  the  older  members  of  the  Perci- 
val family  are  staying,  is  only  a  mile  away,  so  that 
it,  is  an  easy  matter  any  day  to  sail  across ;  excur- 
sions are  made  to  outlying  points,  Mingo,  Star 
and  White  Islands;  and  some  of  the  trips  are 
spiced  with  genuine  danger.  They  have  the  op- 
portunity of  witnessing  a  storm  while  in  camp, 
and  of  feeling  it,  too.  No  one  who  has  ever  seen 
a  storm  off  this  group  of  islands  with  its  long 
stretches  of  reefs  and  ledges,  will  be  apt  to  forget 
it.  The  author  must  have  himself  gone  through 
some  of  the  experiences  he  describes,  to  have 
painted  them  so  accurately  and  vividly.  The  story 
is  capitally  illustrated. 


from  which  it  was  borrowed 


A    000  026  394     7 


Uni 


